Missing Pieces
by mamapranayama
Summary: Preseries AU. Sam is seriously injured while saving a friend at Stanford and is left without a literal leg to stand on. Rated T for language. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Pre-series AU, Sam is seriously injured while saving a friend at Stanford and is left without a literal leg to stand on.

A/N: This was written as a fill for the **oh_sam** fic challenge and this prompt from **captclooless**: _Due to some incident at Stanford (fire, building collapse, Sam being an idiot hero, whatever you want~) Sam is left one leg short._You can read the full prompt here: (sorry, I tried to link this to LiveJournal, but apparently, doesn't like LJ and won't let me even type in the URL.) I tried my darndest to not stray too far from the prompt, but there are some elements that are different. However, I feel I stayed within the spirit of what was asked from the prompter.

Additionally, I have this story all written, but what started out as something I wanted to do as a one-shot, blew up in my face and turned out to be over 25,000 words. However, since I want my writing to at least resemble coherent English, I will be posting this fic one chapter at a time so I can edit this as I go along. Hopefully, I will be able to get a chapter up every day or two until it is all posted.

**Missing Pieces**

**Chapter One**

**_10 months ago_**

The _fight started at dinner on a hot, summer evening in early August._

_After months of studying, planning, saving money and keeping it all a secret to himself, Sam finally found the courage within himself to let his father and brother in on his plans for college. After they all had eaten a dinner of take-out fried chicken, Sam suddenly found himself blurting out the offer for a full-ride scholarship to Stanford University and that he was going to go. _

_Sam wasn't an optimist and he never expected his father to take the news well, but he hadn't expected him to nearly upend the table and go right into yelling at him at the top of his lungs, his face beet-red with anger. __Sam looked to Dean for help, but his brother shrunk back, shock and anger registering on his face over the news. Clearly torn between the two of them, his brother stayed uncharacteristically silent and out of the fight, doing nothing to break it up, and eventually leaving the room while Sam and his father traded hurtful barbs. _

_The final straw came when Sam made a break for the exit, having had enough of the back and forth shouting. His plan was just to go outside and cool off for a few minutes, then come back in and try to rationally explain his reasons for leaving. But, his father was on him before he could make it to the door, grabbing his shoulder, pulling him from the door and shoving him hard into the wall._

_"You selfish little prick" His father shouted into his face, "We are your family and you want to just up and leave when we need you the most? You really want to do that to us – to your brother?"_

_Sam stared at his father speechlessly, his tongue refusing to work._

_"Fine." Dad hissed in disgust when Sam didn't answer him, "You want to go – GO! You don't want to be a part of this family then fine - you're out. Go do whatever the fuck you want, Sam." His father's eyes engaged Sam's with intense anger as he delivered his final admonishment, "Just don't ever come back." _

_Sam broke away from his father and wordlessly headed for the bedroom he and Dean shared. His brother was already in the room, but he had heard every word of their fight._

_"Don't tell me you're really leaving, Sam. Dad's just mad that you kept this from us – he didn't mean it."_

_"Like Hell he didn't." Sam replied, shoving clothes into his bag while anger and a choking sorrow nearly made it impossible to speak. "You heard the man – I'm out of this family."_

_Sam slung his pack over his shoulder and turned his back on Dean to leave when his brother grabbed his wrist and pulled him back._

"Sam … wait."

_Sam stopped and found himself face to face with Dean. His stoic, macho, 'never let 'em see you cry' big brother had unshed tears glistening in his eyes, "Don't get me wrong - I'm pissed as hell that you didn't tell me this sooner and I wish you would change your mind and stay. But, I get why you want to go – I know how much you hate hunting."_

_"You could come with me, Dean." Sam suggested hopefully, but Dean shook his head._

_"I can't. Dad needs me and what we do is important, even if you don't see that. But … no matter what Dad said, Sammy - You'll always be family – and my little brother, got it?"_

_Sam swallowed convulsively and nodded, unable stop his own tears from falling when Dean pulled him into a tight hug. His brother let him go after that, literally as much as figuratively. _

**Present Day**

10 months later, Sam still struggled to push thoughts of Dean and his guilt over leaving him behind out of his mind. But, no matter how many times his fingers punched in Dean's phone number, he just couldn't bring himself to follow through with the call – too afraid that his brother might not answer because something terrible had happened to him or that he just didn't ever want to speak to Sam again.

He tried to put his past where it belonged - in his past. Yet, his thoughts often drifted to his family and he couldn't help but think about what they were doing now – how they were …

Whether they were alive or dead…

He tried not to dwell on them – he had to believe that Dean and his father were alright, that they were the best at what they did and that they were damn-near indestructible. Throughout his freshman year instead, he studied hard, made good grades, got a part-time job at a convenience store near campus, and tried to live as 'normal' a life as possible.

But, it was on a rather ordinary day just as summer break had begun, that Sam's life suddenly took a complete 180 and changed in ways that he never saw coming.

That afternoon, Sam was laying on his bed, reading a Tom Clancy novel when the door to his room suddenly opened and in walked Brady, his roommate since Freshman orientation and now his best friend.

Brady was planning on spending the summer back at his hometown in Minnesota and was supposed to be packing before his flight took off the next morning. However, he was a chronic procrastinator and never one to get anything done on time; he lived by the motto 'why do today what you can put-off until tomorrow?' True to his nature, Brady seemed in no hurry to start packing and sure enough, rather than grabbing his suitcase, he picked up his basketball from the corner of the room and started to dribble it across the tiled floor.

Sam let it go for a minute or two, but soon the constant bouncing of the ball began to grate on his nerves. Sure, Brady was a great guy and he'd do just about anything for his friends, but he was always moving and could never be still. There were times when Sam just wanted to tie him up and pump him full of Ritalin just to get him to settle down.

"Brady …" Sam flopped his book down with a sigh, "Shouldn't you be packing?"

"Nah – I'll do it in the morning."

_Bounce, bounce, bounce._

"Brady –"

"Yeah?"

_Bounce, bounce, bounce._

"You think that maybe you could do that outside?"

"Oh – is this bothering you?"

_Bounce, bounce, bounce._

Sam glared at him.

"Alright … I'll stop, but you should come with me to the basketball court, there's always a pick-up game or two going on and it'll be fun … besides, you can't spend all summer inside reading."

Sam pulled a face. Despite his height, his athletic physique, and everyone's belief that he had to be on the basketball team, he wasn't terribly good at the game.

Brady continued to press Sam to come with him, "C'mon - the weather's nice and I'll be gone for the rest of the summer. This is my last chance to get you out on the court."

Sam sighed, beaten. He really would miss his friend over the break since he was one of the few people he had gotten to know the past year, so he settled on spending the rest of the afternoon with him; even if it meant playing that stupid game.

"Fine," Sam relented and put down his book, "Let's go – but just for a little while, I got to work the graveyard shift at the store tonight and I need to be able to stay awake."

Brady grinned as Sam slipped on some sneakers and followed him out to the basketball courts across the street from the dorms. Surprisingly, Sam played pretty well and was actually enjoying the games and getting some exercise. They ended up spending several hours playing with a few other guys in a series of 3 on 3 games until the sun had set and darkness settled over the courts, making it too hard to play any longer.

By the time they were done, Sam was sticky and dripping sweat, but he felt really good.

Breathing hard after shooting one last basket, Brady slapped him on the back, "Great game." He told him.

"Yeah … that was actually pretty fun." Sam agreed, "But, I need to get back to the room and shower before going to work."

"Yeah, you're right." Brady grinned devilishly, "You stink."

Sam laughed, playfully grabbed the ball, and started back for the dorms ahead of his friend. Brady quickly followed after him then suddenly snatched the ball from his hands and took off across the street without looking.

Sam saw the dark blue sedan before Brady did.

Given the speed of the car and the way it swerved dangerous all over the road, the driver had to be drunk or under the influence of something, and he was making a beeline directly for his roommate. There wasn't any time to call out to his friend and it was pure instinct that propelled him forward as the car barreled down the road. Sam ran at a sprint, desperate to make it to Brady before the car made impact and he darted across the road just in time to push him out of the way.

He tackled Brady to the pavement and they landed in a heap, scraping across the rough pavement. For a split second, Sam believed they were in the clear, that the car would miss them. But, as soon as that thought went through his brain, the front wheels of the two-ton vehicle hit his legs with crushing force, bones audibly snapping under the weight as it rolled over them. Something caught on Sam's foot and his body was dragged away from Brady across the blacktop and pulled underneath the vehicle's hot chassis.

He could feel skin rip as the pavement tore through it.

Heat and searing pain erupted across his body while the car continued to roll and drag him along without stopping, but he was in too much shock to believe this was actually happening to him – it was like seeing it happen to someone else in a cheap, slow-mo action sequence from one of those Steven Seagal movies Dean used to make him watch; as though it couldn't possibly be real.

The noise of the engine just above his head roared in his ears and suddenly, the car sped up and whatever had trapped him underneath it, snapped free. Sam had only one thought in his head and that was to roll away, but there wasn't enough time for him to get both of his legs clear of the back wheels before the back driver's side tire caught him in the middle of his left shin.

His leg exploded in renewed, white hot and blinding agony as it was torn to shreds.

The car never stopped – it sped off at top speed, never once slowing down while Sam's body rolled until he was lying on his back and staring up at the clear night sky.

The stars above twinkled and shined then swirled together and spun dizzyingly until Sam had to close his eyes before he was sick. Every nerve ending in his body shot a chorus of signals to his brain that created an overwhelming cacophony of pain and fear as a sinking realization struck him:

He was going to die.

A wave of coldness swept over him and he wanted to move, to get off of the hard surface of the pavement since he didn't want to die in the middle of the street. But, none of his limbs would respond and he was shaking and shivering too hard to control them. At the same time, his teeth chattered loudly in his head and he tasted iron-rich blood on his tongue and as it filled his mouth, it dribbled out from its corners and tried to choke him while it slid down his throat.

"Sam! Oh God, oh god, oh god …" He heard being repeated over and over as he felt warm hands on his face, cupping his cheeks,"Help's coming – just hang on …"

He forced his eyes to open and the sight of the night sky was replaced by a blurry, darkened face, haloed by short, light colored hair that was lit up around the edges by a streetlight shining behind it. He couldn't make out his features, but he could hear him speaking to him in a frightened voice that was drifting and floating farther and farther away.

_"Stay with me, Sam." _

His eyes refused to stay open any longer and they slid shut on their own accord.

_I'm sorry, Dean …._

Everything faded.

**_To Be Continued ..._**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: ****I'm sorry I didn't get to replying to all of your reviews, but you guys are all super-awesome and I thank you for letting me know what you think of this story so far. :)**_

_**Have a wonderful, safe, and joyous Thanksgiving everyone!**_

**Chapter 2**

Bobby was used to late-night phone calls, but that didn't mean he had to like it. It seemed like just about every day someone was calling him from somewhere asking for something or for some information on some sort of monster - as if he was some kind of damned supernatural 411 call center with nothing better to do than answer all of their questions.

So when his phone rang at around 11:15 pm on a Friday night, he wasn't surprised, just annoyed.

"Balls." He muttered to himself. He had just crawled into bed after a long day working in the salvage yard and seeing as how he wasn't a spring chicken anymore, he was bone-tired and just wanted to get some sleep. He thought about ignoring the insistent ringing, but it was his cell phone and Bobby only gave that number out to the people he trusted the most – and they usually only called that number if there was some serious crap going down.

And dammit if he hadn't left the cotton-picking thing all the way across the room on his dresser rather than on his nightstand, then he wouldn't have had to shuck off his nice warm blankets to go and answer it.

With a heavy sigh, and grumbling all of the way, he got out of bed, walked over the phone and picked it up. The caller ID showed a number he didn't recognize from California, but it could be from just about anyone he had given this number out to.

"Hello?" He answered after the fourth ring.

"Hello, is this Robert Singer?" an unfamiliar, female voice asked.

"Yeah … who is this?"

"My name is Sharon Rogers and I'm a nurse at Stanford University Hospital's Emergency department. I'm calling in regards to a patient we have here named Samuel Winchester. He has you listed as his emergency contact at the school. "

Bobby froze. He hadn't seen neither hide nor hair of the Winchester's since he'd driven that bastard, John from his home with a loaded shotgun. That had been almost four years ago and while Bobby had considered John a trusted friend at one point, he had disagreed with just about every way the man raised his sons and treated them like raw recruits in his quest for vengeance in his wife's death.

While Bobby could sympathize with John since he knew all too well the pain of losing a wife he loved so dearly, he couldn't understand how he could drag his boys into the hunting lifestyle like he had – it was no life for children. If he had had two little boys in tow after Karen died, he certainly wouldn't have gone into hunting – he would have done everything in his power to keep it from them.

The straw that broke the camel's back came when John had planned on using his kids as bait for a werewolf and wanted Bobby to help out with the hunt. Bobby put his foot down and refused, arguing with John rather loudly about how he could dare to put his kids in danger like that. Sam and Dean may have been trained from boyhood to be hunters, but they were still boys and they were too young to be treated that way.

Bobby could still picture the faces of Sam and Dean peering at him through the car as they drove away that day. God, he missed those kids and all of the times that they had spent with him - Dean with his cocky smile and bow-legged swagger and short little, Sammy, his shaggy hair falling into his face and following around his big brother wherever he went like a lost puppy…

Sometimes he really hated John for taking them away from him.

"Sam?" Bobby asked the voice on the other end of the line after the initial shock in hearing the boy's name. He had a million questions running though his brain all at once. What had happened? What was he doing in a hospital in California and why the heck did Sam have_ him _listed as an emergency contact instead of his father or brother? It didn't make a lick of sense.

"Yessir. I'm afraid there's been an accident …."

OOOOOO

There was only pain. It coursed all throughout his body; it rattled around in his head and shot out like electric bolts of searing, blinding, and gut-turning currents along raw nerve endings. There was no centralized point from where it emanated – it was everywhere and he had only one desire: to make it stop.

Dean would make it stop. He always did – where was he?

_Dean's gone – you left him…. He's not coming this time._ The little inner voice in his head reminded him.

Sam dragged his heavy eyelids open just enough for him to peer around his surroundings, too tired and in too much agony to move anything but his eyes. He didn't recognize where he was, but he'd been in more than enough hospitals to know that he was in one, and that he was hooked up to several beeping machines, but for the life of him he couldn't remember how or why he was there, all he knew was pain and would someone please, please, please make it go away …

Tears slipped freely from his eyes. It was too much … he couldn't do this.

He screwed his eyes shut and his fingers found a way to wrap themselves around the railing of his bed, squeezing as tightly as they could, but that did little to abate the waves of pain washing over him.

Sam held on, his eyes closed and leaking tears. He couldn't bring himself to care if anyone heard the deep moaning that issued from the back of his throat that continued until he heard footsteps approach and a female voice say, "Oh hon ,.. I'm so sorry, I didn't think you would be awake yet and the pharmacy was slow in making a new morphine drip for you, but give me one sec and you'll start feeling better in no time. Just hold on."

He didn't know who the woman was nor did he care; he just nodded his head and kept his eyes shut.

A warmth blossomed from the IV in his hand a moment later. It traveled up the veins in his arm, and migrated all through his body until the pain started to let him go. Finally there was some relief and he let him get swept away with it into a sea of blissful nothingness.

OOOOOOO

Bobby didn't know what to expect, but not this.

It had been years since he last saw Sam and he knew he would be different and more grown up, but he hardly recognized the tall, young man lying flat on his back, hooked to machines with tubes and wires, a nasal cannula under his nose, covered in bandages, his face red and swollen, one long leg encased in a plaster cast from hip to toes while the other leg …

He turned away, his stomach roiling and throat threatening to close up on him. "Dammit, Sam." He muttered.

Just as soon as he turned, there was a figure at the open door to Sam's room. He had to be no older than Sam was himself and giving the concerned way he looked at the young man in the bed, he must be one of Sam's friends.

The kid's eyes connected with Bobby, they were red-rimmed and his spiky, blond hair was a mess. He looked like he might not have slept in days.

"I'm sorry." The kid sputtered, "I didn't know you were in here. I'll just …" he turned to leave Bobby stopped him.

"Wait – you one of Sam's friends?"

"Yeah – I'm his roommate. Are you Sam's father?"

Bobby sputtered a little at that question, "No … I'm uh … more like an uncle. I've known him since he was little."

The kid nodded, "I'm sorry, it's just that Sam's never really mentioned much about his family … I just thought –"

"It's okay."

"Um … I'm Brady, by the way." Brady stepped in further and held out a hand which Bobby took and shook briefly.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Brady's eyes went back to his friend on the bed.

Bobby broke the quiet, "So … you're roommates, huh? Here at the university?"

"Yeah … I got lucky and got a dorm room with a guy like Sam. He's one of the best friends I've ever had and …" Brady swallowed hard, " … he saved me, ya know? Pushed me out of the way of that drunk driver … how does something like this happen to someone who would do that for a jerk like me? You know, The police never even caught the guy that hit him - it's just not fair."

Bobby had only picked up a little bit of info about Sam while he was en route from South Dakota to California. He had to call around, but he learned about the accident, the injuries he sustained and what he was doing on campus in the first place. Bobby had to admit to being a little surprised to find out that Sam was actually a student there, with a full-ride scholarship to boot, not because Sam wasn't sharp as a whip, but because of his father's attitude towards hunting over schooling. But, he wasn't at all surprised that the boy had put himself in danger to save someone else – it was something he's been doing his whole life and to Sam it was second nature.

"Not much in life that is fair, kid." Bobby remarked honestly.

"I'm sorry … I uh …haven't had much sleep lately and I tend to babble when I'm tired," Brady admitted, running a hand through his hair, "But, I should go … you probably want some time alone and I have to catch a plane back to my parents' for the summer in a few hours."

Bobby nodded and offered a little advice of his own, "Get some sleep on the flight, kid. Looks like you could use it"

"I'll try." The boy said and then walked up to Sam's sleeping form, patting his shoulder gently, "Hang in there, Buddy."

Brady was gone a moment later and Bobby was left standing there alone with a heavy heart. Brady was right about one thing. Life sure wasn't fair and it wasn't right that Sam was in this hospital without Dean or John and that his own family was absent when he needed them the most.

Bobby didn't know all the circumstances that led to Sam being alone like this - why Sam put his name down as next of kin rather than his own family -but, he didn't like it at all. John might be a bastard and a shitty father at times, but Sam was still his son and Bobby vowed that he would track him down somehow.

Until then however, Sam was going to need help getting through this– and lot's of it.

Bobby grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Sam's bed and sat down before taking hold of Sam's limp hand and patted it, offering his presence and assurances that there would be at least one person in his life he could turn to.

"Don't worry, kiddo. I'll take care of ya."

OOOOOO

Sam was aware of someone talking. A gruff voice that rang familiar, but one he hadn't heard in a very long time.

Thinking coherently was a chore, but even through the haze, he didn't think that the voice he heard could be real – it had to be a dream, but then the voice spoke again.

"He'll walk again though, right?

"Well… after the cast comes off he'll need physiotherapy and from there the therapists will talk about getting him fitted with a prosthetic. Thankfully we were able to save the knee, and that should make mobility much easier for him."

Sam's consciousness hovered between confusion and disbelief, but he was too tired to open his eyes. Prosthetic? They couldn't be talking about him, could they? And that couldn't possibly be_ Bobby Singer's_ voice asking all of those questions, could it?

No ... It was definately a dream.

"When he's ready to get out of the hospital, I'd like to be able to take him back to my place and take care of him. Is there … I dunno … special accommodations I need to make?"_ Not_ Bobby asked.

"Well … with his right leg broken, it'll be in a cast for at least 6 to 8 weeks, so a wheelchair will be necessary until it's fully healed and he can use crutches after than until he's ready to learn how to use a prosthetic. So a wheelchair ramp at the very least would be needed."

There was that word again – prosthetic. Why does he keep saying that?

Sam had to know if this was real and it took some effort, but he managed to get his eyes open, even if only one of them would respond. Two blurry figures entered his field of view. One was undoubtedly a doctor since his white coat gave him away, but the other – with the faded blue jeans, well-worn flannel shirt and tattered trucker's hat was unmistakably Bobby.

_Not a dream?_

What was he doing here?

"Bobby?" Sam asked, his voice was rough as sandpaper and he could barely muster enough energy for it to be audible, but Bobby must have heard him since he turned around and came to his side.

"Sam? You awake?"

"Bobby … wha?" Sam swallowed, his voice catching on his raw throat and it was hard to focus, his eyes were so heavy and he's never been so tired before, "s'at you?"

"Yeah, it's me. You were in a bad accident, but you're gonna just fine, okay?"

Sam absorbed that information, but his mind was too foggy to process much of it. He must be on some serious drugs, he reasoned absently.

The doctor joined Bobby by his bed and hovered over Sam and interrupted before he could answer Sam's question. "Sam? Are you feeling any pain?"

Sam shook his head; he didn't feel much of anything – his whole body felt numb.

"Good. If you ever do start to feel some discomfort, just press this button by the side of your bed, it's hooked to a pump that will deliver some pain medicine for you."

Sam nodded, he didn't think he could do much more than that, but he still had so many questions. He glanced up at Bobby and met his eyes, "What happen'd?"

Bobby hesitated and looked at the doctor who nodded, "It might be best to let him know."

"Lemme know what?" Sam had to know even though he could feel his heart beating faster. If Bobby was hesitant to tell Sam something, then it couldn't be good.

"The accident it uh … well …" Bobby swallowed and looked down and away from Sam's eyes, "The car that hit you rolled over your legs, it broke the right one pretty bad and the other …"

Sam had a bad feeling about what Bobby had to say, but he had to know, "What? What about it?"

"It's gone, Sam … I'm sorry." Bobby 's voice was soft and sorrowful as he delivered the news.

"What? …no," Sam responded immediately shaking his head from the sheer absurdity of Bobby's statement. It couldn't possibly be true - Sam may be numb from all of the medications they must be pumping into him, but he still had that leg – he could feel it.

"We did everything we could to save it," The doctor added, "But we couldn't, there was just too much damage. I'm sorry, but it had to be amputated."

Sam kept shaking his head. Why were they telling him this? If it was a joke, it sure wasn't funny. But, Bobby and the doctor just stood there awkwardly with pity filling their faces.

Sam felt coldness wash over him. God … what if they were telling the truth?

"Lemme see." Sam said, trying to push up with his arms so he could sit up. It was too difficult to get a good view of his legs lying down, but he couldn't raise himself enough to see anything, his arms were as weak as Jell-O.

Bobby attempted to stop him from moving, gently pushing him back down, "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

"I. Want. To. See." Sam demanded.

Bobby hesitated, but reluctantly gave in, "Okay … just lie still and I'll raise the head of the bed."

The older hunter pressed a button along the railing of the bed and Sam felt the head of the bed begin to rise along with his anticipation until he was fully able to get a full view of his lower limbs.

His right leg was set immobile in a thick, long cast, but it was his left leg that drew his attention and made his stomach lurch. He felt bile rise up his throat seeing where the sheet covering his leg indented far shorter than it should have. He pulled at the sheet, batting away Bobby's hands when he tried to stop him and his breath stuck in his throat when he took in the sight of the stark white bandages wrapped around a drainage tube what was connected to what was left of his leg just below the knee.

"No… no, no, no, no …."

Frozen in place, Sam suddenly couldn't breathe.

The room spun and his vision was blurred with tears. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, heard Bobby murmuring in his ear, telling him that he would take care of him – that he'd see Sam through this - that he'd be okay - but it all rang hollow in Sam's head.

How could anything possibly ever be okay again?

**_To Be Continued ..._**


	3. Chapters 3 and 4

**A/N: Hello all! I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving with your friends and family. And for those of you (like me) that are avoiding the stores and malls today as though they have been invaded by zombies, I have decided to give you my own brand of 'Black Friday' deal: two chapters for the price of one! (FREE! ... as usual).**

****Chapter 3****

Two long weeks went by in the hospital before Sam was cleared to be discharged. During that time, he withdrew into himself and Bobby knew it wasn't all because of the drugs and painkillers they kept pumping into him as Sam claimed. When he was awake, he was morose, brooding, and quiet, staring off into the distance with the TV on, but never watching it. The rest of the time he slept, but never easily, often waking with a start from whatever nightmares were plaguing him.

There was little that Bobby could say or do to draw him out of his deep depression. The only person he knew who could really help in this situation was nowhere to be found and it pained Bobby to know end to see Sam hurting so much without Dean there to help him. He might not have said it aloud, but Sam needed his older brother and if anyone could see him through this, it was Dean.

And Bobby was certain that if Dean knew what had happened to Sam, he'd be there in a heartbeat.

Even as young boys during those times when John had dropped them off at Bobby's house when a hunt might last for weeks at a time, it always seemed to be Dean's self-driven responsibility to look after Sam and he hardly ever let Bobby do much for them other than cook their meals. Taking care of his little brother was a job that Dean took on with fervent zeal and he was instantly by Sam's side whenever he skinned a knee, bumped his head, or ran even the slightest fever. He also always had an eye out for danger and if anything should threaten his little brother, Dean would be there to protect him.

Dean was to Sam the father figure he should have had from John and when Bobby dwelled on how much responsibility he had dumped on his oldest son's shoulders at such a young age and how he could just tell Sam to take a hike and never come back, he sometimes wished that he had pulled the trigger on that shotgun the last time he saw him.

Bobby tried to elicit some information from Sam about what had happened between him and his family, but Sam didn't offer much other than to say that John had practically disowned him because he had wanted to go to college and that he didn't think Bobby should bother with trying to track them down.

Yet still, Bobby knew Sam needed his family. John might indeed be a world-class bastard; but Bobby knew that he loved Sam even if he had a terrible way of showing it and he needed to know what had happened to his son – he was his father after all and he should be there despite whatever had caused the rift.

So, he made several attempts to find John and Dean during that time despite Sam's insistence that he shouldn't bother. But even with contacting just about every hunter he knew to find their whereabouts, tracking them down was proving to be damn near impossible. All of the phone numbers he had been given were out of service, which wasn't surprising given the fact that the nature of their profession often led to run-ins with the law and if John and Dean had run afoul with the police, they might have found it necessary to chuck all of their phones and go to ground.

For now, Bobby would have to be the one to take care of Sam – the boy had no one else. But he didn't mind – he was an old man with only his books and his dog for company and while Sam may not be blood, he was family.

Therefore, week before Sam was scheduled to be released, Bobby made the two-day trip back out to his home to get it set up for Sam's eventual arrival. He installed a wheelchair ramp, made up a make-shift bedroom for him in his library, and arranged for Sam's medical records to be sent to Sioux Falls general hospital for his rehabilitation.

All was ready and as soon as Sam was signed out, given various antibiotic prescriptions and pain medications, Bobby helped him get into some street clothes for the trip.

Sam refused help getting dressed and got his shirt on without too much trouble, moving slowly so as not to pull on the various stiches and cuts on his arms that were still healing. His pants on the other hand were a bit more problematic and Sam had to give in when Bobby offered to help get the sweats over his enormous cast while Sam sat up on the edge of his bed. Bobby was still getting used to the sight of the bandaged stump and though he had been shown how to clean and dress the wound, it still tore him up inside seeing it up close, especially as he handled the leg and slid the pants up over it, the extra material past the knee hanging empty over the edge of the bed.

Bobby clasped Sam on the shoulder and gave it a supportive rub, "You ready?"

Sam said nothing and just nodded. His was face blank and expressionless, but his eyes gave away his dejection as they stared at the loose material at the bottom of his pant leg.

"It'll get better, kid." Bobby assured him, honestly wishing that was the truth.

Sam was then loaded into a waiting wheelchair and Bobby pushed him out to his car. Since it would still be a while before Sam could bear any weight on his broken leg, a large, muscular orderly followed them out and was at hand to help Sam into the car, practically carrying him out of the wheelchair and carefully getting him into the backseat.

Sam clearly was not pleased at being treated like a helpless invalid, but kept his irritation mostly to himself, only giving away his annoyance by flushing red in the face. Meanwhile, Bobby took the empty wheelchair, folded it up and loaded it into the trunk before heading back to the driver's side door and climbing in.

"You doing okay there, Sam?" Bobby asked as he looked behind him and started the engine.

"M'fine." Sam muttered flatly, his usual response to any questions about how he was feeling, whether he was in truly in pain or not. Sam turned his head so he could lean it against the window and closed his eyes.

Bobby sighed then started them off on the long journey home.

OOOOOO

**_6 weeks later_**

Sam would like to say that he was getting used to it, but he wasn't. It had been two months of this shit already and he was getting rather sick of it.

He stared at the useless appendage as Bobby finished wrapping it up after he had cleaned the puffy, and mottled skin around the wound and forced himself not to hate it.

But he couldn't help it. He did hate it. He hated every moment of this new existence.

On the good days - those few and far between days when the pain wasn't excruciating - Sam merely felt like a useless piece of crap.

But on the bad days – on the days where not even the heavy-duty painkillers he was on could take away the constant, permanent ache in a leg that wasn't even fucking there anymore – on those days he wondered what it would feel like to swallow the whole damn bottle of Vicodin so he would fall asleep and never wake up again.

'Phantom pain' was what the doctors called it. Fucking doctors … what did they know? 'Phantom pain' suggested that it wasn't real, that it wasn't there - but like all of the other phantoms Sam had encountered in his life, it was more than real. But, unlike those spirits he used to hunt, a quick, clean salt 'n burn would never make it go away.

He was stuck like this … permanently.

Bobby finished with the dressing change then rolled down Sam's pant leg, "Well, that ought to do it for now."

Sam tried to be grateful for the older man's help since the cast on his leg made it damn near impossible for him to reach his ugly stump of a leg in order to clean and dress it himself. But the care Bobby showered on him just made him feel all the more useless. Bobby shouldn't have to put up with him like this – he had a life of his own and Sam was just weighing him down with his invalidity.

He wasn't sure why Bobby took care of him like he did. It wasn't as though he and his father had parted on good terms and Sam had only put Bobby down as his emergency contact when he registered for school because he didn't think he would ever need to be called. School was supposed to be a safe place – a place to get away from danger.

Well … so much for that theory.

"Thanks." Sam forced out weakly.

"S'no problem." Bobby stood back up and eyed Sam with a small grin, "So, you ready to get going?"

Today was supposed to be some kind of milestone in Sam's recovery—the day his doctor would say if he could get his cast off. While he would be glad to have the heavy plaster cast that kept him either in bed or in the wheelchair gone, he didn't see how it could really change much. He'd still be missing a leg – he'd still be a cripple.

Sam nodded, "Yeah … Guess we should get it over with."

If missing a leg wasn't bad enough, then going out in public without said leg was even worse. Even at the hospital where injured and sick people roamed the halls everywhere, he had people staring at him – or rather at the piece of him that was missing. But, more than that, he got pitiful and sympathetic gazes from people and he hated that almost as much as not having a leg.

Sure enough, as soon as they arrived at the hospital, Sam could feel the eyes of people passing by them in the halls and he diverted his gaze to his lap until he was safely within his orthopedist's office.

Dr. Martin, whom Sam would admit was an honest and informative doctor as well as a personable man, walked into the exam room and stuck up a couple of x-rays up onto the light board. Over the weeks, Sam was in his office at least once a week to have his leg examined and he had gotten to know the routine quite well.

"Hey, Sam." He greeted him with a handshake and gave a nod towards Bobby who had taken a chair next to the exam table, "How are we feeling today?"

"Fine." Sam replied as usual even though that day wasn't a particularly good day as far as his pain went. He took a double dose of pills that morning, but they hardly made a dent in the ache.

"Good. Well, let's get you up on the exam table and take a look, shall we?"

Sam helped as much as he could, but he needed Bobby's help to get him out of the wheelchair and up on to the exam table. He hated being so helpless, but it was just par for the course these days - Sam couldn't even take a leak without Bobby's help.

After getting Sam up on the table, Dr. Martin started in on his exam, asking all of his usual questions as he pulled up Sam's empty pant leg. He unwrapped the dressing covering his useless stump of a leg and took a close look, poking and prodding here and there along the incision with his fingers. He then had Sam bend his knee and move what was left of his leg up and down, asking what hurt and if he was still experiencing the 'phantom pain'. Sam answered all of his questions with quick yeses and no's and when he was done, The doctor wrapped the leg back up and took a seat on his grey stool.

"Well, Sam. Things are looking pretty good," Dr. Martin smiled, "You're incision looks nice and clean and it's almost completely healed. I'm also encouraged by the amount of movement you have in your knee," He turned around and pointed to the x-rays hanging on the light board, "The x-rays we took the other day show that bones in your right leg have healed quite nicely and I think that this cast of yours can come off today. And after it's off you can start putting _some_ weight on your leg, but you're going to need a brace to help support it so you can get around on some crutches. On top of that, I've set-up a consultation for you with our physiotherapy department to help build up the strength in your legs and if all goes well, we might see about getting you fitted for a prosthetic by the end of the month."

Sam felt as though he should have been as thrilled with the news as the doctor and Bobby clearly were, but he just couldn't muster the same excitement. However, he nodded his head and forced a grin because that's what he thought he should do.

An hour later, Sam was minus one plaster cast and had brace fitted to his leg that would allow weight to be put on the leg and stabilized the movement of his knee. He was sent directly to the physiotherapy department after that where he was handed a pair of crutches and given instructions on how to use them with just his weak leg to support him.

He was helped up from the chair and into a standing position by the therapist and Bobby grinned at him as he tested his braced leg and put his weight on it, taking his first couple of steps with the crutches while the therapist ghosted him in case he should falter. But, Sam didn't falter; his leg supported him and held his weight without much pain and he made it across the length of the room before the therapist ordered him back into his wheelchair before he wore himself completely out.

Sam was slightly out of breath and a little sweaty after that first go around with his crutches, but he wasn't worn out at all, he felt a renewed enegry coursing through him. He had underestimated how being vertical on his own again, even if it was for just a few moments, could be so liberating. Without the weight of the cast on his leg, he felt lighter and standing at his full height without anyone supporting him brought a familiarity and sense of normalcy that sparked something inside of him that he hadn't felt in a very long time – hope.

For the first time since he woke in the hospital in California, Sam grinned at Bobby with a smile that was genuine and his good mood lasted until the moment the older man pulled into the salvage yard and they both saw the black car parked in front of the house.

OOOOOO

Bobby was amazed at the change he suddenly saw in Sam the moment he got his cast off. The boy actually started speaking to him during the ride home in more than two or three word responses and he saw a spark in the kid's eyes that he hadn't seen since his accident.

Regaining a little bit of mobility and independance seemed to awaken the fighter in Sam that Bobby always knew was there and he was over the moon to see some of the haunted, depressed look in the young man's eyes dissipate somewhat as they drove back to the salvage yard. But the moment the sleek, black car came into view, he immediately clammed up and his face drained of all color.

Bobby muttered a curse under his breath seeing Sam's reaction as he pulled up and parked his car alongside the Impala. Right off, he could see that the vehicle was unoccupied, but its owner was standing on the porch, watching them as the car came to a stop. He killed the engine and looked over at Sam who stared silently as the figure took a step forward and headed down the steps towards them.

Sam's jaw muscles worked into hard knots as he swallowed hard and his teeth ground together. It wasn't anger that Bobby saw in young man's eyes however; it was sadness and shame.

"You gonna be okay?" He asked the kid.

"I don't want him to see me like this, Bobby."

Bobby sighed, "Maybe you don't, but I don't think he's gonna take 'no' for an answer. Besides, you two need to talk – he needs to know what happened."

"I can't …"

"You can. Trust me on this one, Sam. You need this."

Sam shook his head, but before he could protest the reunion any further, the passenger side door was yanked open, "God … Sam! What the Hell? You're supposed to be at school, I drove all the way out to Stanford to check on you but you weren't –"

Suddenly, a green-eyed gaze landed on Sam's legs.

He tried to cover his legs with a blanket from the back seat, but it was too late, "Dean please –"

"Sammy?" Dean whispered and took a step back, shock registering on his stricken face as he shook his head in disbelief, "Oh God …"

Dean stared at Sam, whose head had dropped, unable to look at his brother any longer. Dean's mouth hung open and he was struck dumb and Bobby took that as his cue to get out of the car and approach the younger man.

"Dean, let's go inside and talk -" He started, but Dean whirled on him, his shock quickly morphing to anger.

"Goddammit! What the fuck happened, Bobby? Don't you think you could have called?"

"Call you? " Bobby responded with equal vehemence, "Don't you think I tried? I talked to just about every damn hunter in the country trying to find you and your daddy, but you two are harder to find than bigfoot."

"How could you let this happen?" Dean's face went beet-red with rage, "Bobby, I swear to God - if this is because you took him some friggin' hunt –"

"Now, you look here, kid -" Bobby snapped back and was getting close to smacking the boy across the back of the head.

"Dean! Stop it!" Sam suddenly shouted from his seat in the car. "It's not Bobby's fault. It was an accident!"

"An accident? Doing what, Sam? You're supposed to be at school – where it's safe. How could _this_ –" Dean pointed to Sam's legs, "happen?"

"I was hit by a car, okay?" Sam shouted back up at his brother, "It wasn't a demon, or a ghost, or any other kind of monster – it was just a regular, fucking drunk driver that ran me over and mangled my leg so bad that it couldn't be fixed! So yeah – news flash, Dean – nowhere is safe and my leg is gone!" Sam's voice cracked, heavy with emotion, "It's fucking gone and there's nothing you, or anyone else in the universe can do about it!"

Dean again was struck speechless and could only stare motionlessly while Sam's openly eyes filled with grief-filled tears. Bobby stood by and watched as Dean, true to his nature as Sam's protector, snapped out of it all of the sudden and dropped to his knees beside where Sam still sat in the car, wrapping his arms around his baby brother.

Sam didn't hesitate to bury his face in Dean's jacket while his brother drew him in closer and held him tight. Though they were muffled by the material of Dean's shirt, deep wracking sobs emanated from Sam's throat as his shoulders started to shake up and down.

Bobby had been waiting for and expecting this catharsis for some time. Sam had been keeping this all in since the accident and the dam had to break at some point. But, he also knew that there was only one person in the world Sam could ever feel safe enough to release this depth of pain and that person was the brother who held him in his arms and whispered soft apologies in his ear while stroking the back of his head.

"God, Sammy … I'm so sorry … I should have kept a closer eye on you … I should have been there for you."

Bobby stepped back and let the boys have their privacy knowing there were some things he just couldn't be a part of.

**_To Be Continued ..._**

**_Just kidding - here's the next chapter:_**

**Chapter 4**

Dean crept away from his sleeping brother, his sight lingering on the empty spot under the covers where Sam's leg should have been and continued to try wrapping his head around the fact that his little brother - the brother he promised himself he would always protect - had been so terribly hurt and Dean hadn't been there for him.

He couldn't fight the guilt that ate him as he found his way to the kitchen and took a seat in the chair across from Bobby.

The older hunter looked up from a book as soon as he heard Dean walk in and after a few moments of tense silence, Bobby asked, "How's Sam?"

"Racked out," Dean replied with a tired sigh, "I guess those drugs he's on knock him out pretty fast."

"Yeah … " Bobby agreed, "there's that and then there's the fact that his brother showed up out of the blue—"

Dean rubbed a hand across his face, the events of the last few days and now this had left him shaken and it had all started when his father left for a hunt in Florida.

It was really only a one-man job and his father gave him the choice to either come along or stay behind to research and look for their next job. Dean chose the latter for reasons he didn't tell his father.

Seeing as how they were in southern Oregon at the time, he figured that his dad would be gone long enough for him to take off for a few days and swing down to Palo Alto to check up on Sam and be back to do the research his father wanted him to do before he returned. It wouldn't be the first time Dean had snuck behind his father's back to make sure Sam was still okay.

Therefore, a few hours after his dad took off in his truck, Dean gassed up the car and headed south.

The other two times Dean had managed to make it out to Stanford to check up on his brother he had kept his distance and never let Sam know he was in was enough for him to just see Sam walk across the campus or spy on him through his dorm window for Dean to reassure himself that his brother was fine and was thriving without him. Afterall, Sam hadn't bothered to call him even once over all of these months and Dean's own angry feelings over the way his brother had dropped the whole college bomb and left had given him a bitter taste in his mouth, so he too had avoided calling Sam as well.

But, the closer he got to Palo Alto this time around, Dean found himself wanting more than to just see his sibling from a distance. It had been a year after all, and he missed his brother. Life was weird without him, and having him gone made Dean feel like a hole had been carved out his core. Sure, it was probably going to end badly and Dean was most likely being naïve to think that if he could just talk to Sam – then maybe they could patch things up and try being brothers that actually spoke to each other again.

But that hadn't happened.

Instead, Dean got to the Stanford campus and couldn't find his brother. Sam's room had been emptied and his roommate was gone for the summer. There were hardly any kids still living in the dorms and those that did, were pretty clueless and didn't know his brother from a hole in the wall.

Since trying to find Sam at the dorms was a bust, Dean was forced to look elsewhere. He recalled that on his last trip to the university he saw that Sam had gotten a job at a local convenience store and there was a good chance he still worked there, so headed for the store and tried to find someone who might have known if Sam was still in town.

The moron behind the counter was about as smart as a bag of rocks and he had only been working at the store for about a month, but he did give Dean some useful information:

"_I don't know, man" the kid frowned,_ _"All I know is that I got hired to fill-in for some guy who was hurt. I don't know what happened to him, but I do know that my boss is always going on and on about what a good worker he was and why can't I do as good a job as he did? Jeez, you'd think the guy was the re-incarnation of Jesus Christ or something."_

_Yeah … that was probably Sam, Dean figured._

"_Do you know if he's still in Palo Alto?" Dean asked._

"_I dunno. My boss said something about him going to South Dakota or something like that". The kid looked up at the ceiling as if it might help him remember. "Or was it North Dakota?" _

Hearing the kid mention that 'hurt' and 'South Dakota' had Dean spinning his wheels with worry. There was only one person in South Dakota that Sam might know; Bobby Singer.

Dean tried to call the older hunter on every line he could think of, but of course, none of the numbers he had for Bobby from five years ago worked any longer since the older hunter needed to change them every so often so as not to draw suspicion to the various aliases he took on.

The next thing Dean knew he was in his car and driving east. It took two days of constant travel for Dean to reach Bobby's house, but his relief over seeing Sam in the passenger seat of Bobby's car from the porch that afternoon had been far too short-lived.

"God, Bobby …"

"Tell me about it." Bobby remarked then poured himself a shot of bourbon before sliding the bottle across the table to Dean. He gratefully took it and drank a quick swig straight from the bottle before starting in on the numerous questions he had rattling around in his head.

"How long ago did it happen?"

"'bout two months ago." Bobby answered, leaning back in his chair, "I got a call from the hospital out at Stanford. I guess Sam put me down as his emergency contact."

Dean shook his head, a fresh stab of guilt and hurt washed over him. Sam hadn't listed his own family as net-of-kin? He understood why Sam might not have put John's name down as a contact, but it hurt to think that Sam had put Dean so far behind him that he too was omitted. Either that or Sam didn't think that Dean would come to him if anything had happened.

That thought brought a renewed mix of feelings Dean didn't want to deal with.

He was about to ask more about what happened when Bobby came up with a question of his own, "So … it's been a while, kid. How are you holding up?"

"Me? Oh, I'm just great, Bobby." Dean let the sarcasm fly then took another gulp of the bourbon, "I just found out that my kid brother was smashed up by a drunk driver and lost a leg _two months ago_, so yeah … I'm super, thanks for asking."

"Don't get all snotty with me, boy. It's not like I wanted to keep this from you. I wanted you with Sam. But, why is it that every phone number I found for you and your dad has been disconnected? You two run into some kind of trouble?"

He could have slapped himself. The phones – no wonder Bobby couldn't find them. "Funny story actually …" Dean started to explain, "okay, maybe not ''ha-ha' funny, but the weird kind of funny, ya know?"

"No, I don't." Bobby replied dryly.

"Right…. anyway … about four months ago there was this rugaru out in Dayton that we caught munching on a little old lady, so Dad of course, took him out. Thing is, the lady was still alive so we called the paramedics to come and take car of her. Only it turns out that this lady must have confused Dad as being her attacker and gave the police his description which ended up getting broadcasted all across the midwest. So, to be on the safe side, we burned all of our old phones and ID's then laid low for a while until we were sure the po-po wasn't after him anymore."

Bobby nodded as if he had already figured that something like that had occurred. "Well, you're here now and that's what matters. Sam's been having a … difficult time with things. He's healing physically, but … emotionally? He's still got a ways to go."

Dean nodded and swallowed a painful lump in his throat. There was still a chance Dean could make up for all of the times Sam needed him over the last couple of months and he wasn't there, "You mind if I stay?"

"Hell, kid. If you left now, I'd probably kill ya."

OOOOOO

Sam woke up groggy and certain that yesterday was all a strange dream. Seeing Dean again and then crying in his arms like a little baby until he practically fell asleep couldn't have been real – it had to be a dream.

That was what Sam thought until the moment Dean walked in with a cup of coffee in one hand, a grin on his face, and a "Good Morning, Sunshine," on his lips.

"Hey." Sam returned the greeting as he ran his fingers through his hair then rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned loudly.

"Sleep well?" Dean asked, plopping down on the bed beside Sam as if the last year that they had been apart had never happened.

Sam nodded and sat up. Dean then handed him a couple of his painkillers, "Here, Bobby said you'd be needing these."

Yep … it was Sam's daily routine. Wake up in pain, swallow a whole bunch of pills. Spend the day in a foggy haze, take a nap, wake up in pain, take some more pills …

Sam took the pills from Dean and swallowed them down - it was less than he usually took, but he would take more as soon as Dean wasn't looking.

"So …" Dean started hesitantly, weighing his words carefully and unsure of where to start. "I talked to Bobby and I think I'll stick around for a while … ya know … until you're on your feet again …" Dean suddenly stopped as if realizing what he just said might hurt Sam's feelings, "Or foot … whatever."

Sam shook his head. "You don't need to stay. I'm sure Dad's gonna need you."

"Yeah, well … Dad can take care of himself for a little while."

"Right … unlike me."

"That's not what I meant." Dean sighed, "Look … I want to be here. I don't want you to get through this alone."

"I'm not alone, Dean. I got Bobby –"

"Okay … let me rephrase that. I don't want you to go through this without out me, okay? I should have been there for you and I wasn't. But, I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere … so, just let me help ... please."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn't count the number of times when he was at school and especially the last couple of months when he thought about his brother and how he had always taken care of him. It used to make Sam feel guilty thinking that his presence all of Dean's life had practically robbed his brother of a childhood because he was always watching out for him. Dean shouldn't have had that responsibility and Sam tried to convince himself while he was at school that the distance between them would do his brother some good. Sam had hoped that Dean would find his own path in life without the burden of having Sam around to babysit, but that apparently hadn't happened.

Dean hadn't changed at all and Sam could see from pleading look on his big brother's face that he truly did want to help – he didn't want to leave Sam behind. Dean wanted them to be family again.

And now that Dean was sitting next to him, Sam realized how much he wanted that too.

Sam gave his brother a little grin, "Okay … I guess I'll try to put up with your bossiness for a while."

"Bossy? I'm not bossy, I just older … And I know more than you."

Sam snorted, "Really? Then what's the capital of Turkey?"

"uh …Who-cares-astan?"

"Yeah … you definitely know more than I do."

"Whatever …"

Sam sobered and his thoughts drifted to a more serious topic, "So … what about Dad?"

Dean's grin dropped as well, "Just let me worry about Dad, okay?"

OOOOOO

**_2 weeks later ..._**

"_Hey dad, it's me … uh … so, I uh … Okay, here's the deal. I'm with Sam right now… and uh …He was in an accident, so I'm gonna stick with him for a while until he's better. But, don't worry, he's gonna okay - I'll explain it all if you ever call me back. Look, I know you're not gonna like this and he's not your favorite person in the world, but we're at Bobby's and he's been taking good care of Sam … and we owe him for that. So anyway, I know you're busy, but if you get this message, you know my number and where I'll be."_

John pulled the phone away from his ear with an uneasy feeling blossoming in his gut. Sam was in an accident? Dean was with him at Bobby's? What the Hell was going on?

Dean said not to worry, that Sam was going to be okay, but how could he not worry?

John looked at the date of the message and swore– damn, it was already almost two weeks old and there were many other messages after it that he hadn't even heard yet. John had been so wrapped up in the case he had been working on the last couple of weeks that he hadn't bothered to check his messages the whole time he was in Florida and he had missed them all.

"Goddammit all." John felt a rush of guilt. The cell phone was still something he was getting used to and often it got neglected and sat uncharged in his bag for weeks at a time. He preferred landlines and phones with wires, but still, he should have called Dean to check in on him, even though he was only supposed to be doing research while he was gone.

Angry at himself and Dean's vague voicemail about Sam, John hurled the useless piece of technology at the wall of his motel room and watched it smash apart into several pieces.

John may have said some –okay, many things that he regretted to his youngest son, and he was sure Sam hated him, but Sam was still his kid. John knew he would never win any parenting awards, but he had never stopped worrying about Sam, especially once he left and he could no longer keep a close eye on him.

He should have never let him go, and now Dean was saying that he was hurt?

John left the scattered pieces of his phone on the floor as he packed his bag and left the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

Jumping in his truck, John revved the engine and tore off, heading for the closest highway north.

_**To be Continued ...**_


	4. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thanks again for reading this story and for all of the reviews. I appreciate it and you guys all rock! :)**_

_**Here is an extra-long chapter for you, hopefully it's not too plodding:**_

**Chapter 5**

"Not bad, Sam." Rhonda stated encouragingly, walking along Sam's side as he gripped the parallel bars and stepped carefully forward. "Keep going."

"You're such a slave driver, Rhonda," Dean quipped as he walked into the physiotherapy gym and approached them while Sam continued to perform his exercises.

"Oh hi, Dean." Sam's physical therapist looked up and smiled cheerfully with a coquettish twinkle in her eye.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Rhonda was a motherly kind of woman and had to be at least in her mid-forties. She was far too old for Dean's tastes, but he was a natural charmer and had an effect on women of all ages that made them go weak in the knees.

Sam shifted his weight onto his right leg and tried to ignore his brother's presence as he took a step forward with his newly fitted prosthetic. He was still a little wobbly on the damn thing, and he hadn't dared to let go of the bars yet, but the sensation of having _something _where his leg used to be was worth the pain that the exercises caused, but even that was getting better. He was already strong enough on his right leg to hobble along on crutches and Dean had made sure that he got plenty of exercise, dragging him out of the house, even on the days when his missing leg was giving him fits, never taking 'no' for an answer. Dean started him on walks back and forth between the rows of junked cars at Bobby's the day after he arrived and eventually they stretched out their walks to nearly half a mile at a time. Sam didn't even need the brace on his right leg anymore and it had only been two weeks since his brother had shown up and while Sam hadn't said anything of the sort aloud to his brother, he was grateful to have him around.

Sam and Dean used their walks to get to know each other again. They talked about what Sam had been doing at school, Dean talked about some of the hunts they had been on, and they also talked about totally inane stuff such as who was hotter, Jessica Alba or Halle Berry - Halle Berry won. But one subject that had been taboo was their father, Sam didn't ask if Dean had talked to him and his brother remained tight-lipped about where he was.

And that was just fine with him, he wasn't sure if he was ready to even think about it. While he couldn't help but love the man, there was still so much anger and hurt there that he wasn't sure he could handle a face-to-face meeting anytime soon. He didn't want to deal with that kind of rejection again, especially now that he was permanently off the varsity hunting team and his father was sure to see him as worthless, damaged goods.

"Okay, Sam. I think that should do it for today." Rhonda said and reached for Sam's crutches. She offered them over to him, but he waved them away for the time being.

"I just want to go across one more time. I think I almost got it." Sam insisted.

"Well aren't you an eager beaver today." Rhonda beamed then stood close to Sam as he turned around and headed back to other way.

"He just likes to show off around the ladies." Dean snarked with a grin and Sam resisted flipping him the bird in front of his matronly therapist.

Sam had been practicing on his new leg for over an hour now and while he was starting to get a little sore since the stump of his leg was still a little overly sensitive within the socket of the prosthetic and he was still getting used to bearing any kind of weight on it, he wanted to keep trying it out. On top of that, Dean was there, looking on with a wide, toothy smile and Sam hadn't seen such genuine glee on his brother's face in quite a while.

Sam was only a few steps away from the end of the bars when a sudden sharp, twisting cramp attacked his left thigh and shot its way up. Sam gritted his teeth and sucked in a shape breath and he would have gone down if Rhonda hadn't been right by his side the whole time, catching him.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked, joining Rhonda in the effort to keep him upright.

"Cramp." Sam mustered the word out between breaths.

Rhonda and Dean both helped Sam away from the bars and into a chair. As soon as he was seated, Rhonda removed the prosthetic then started rubbing Sam's leg to help relieve the muscle spasms coursing through it.

"Just breathe through it, Sam." Rhonda instructed. Dean hovered behind Sam and he could feel his supportive hand on his shoulder.

It took a couple of minutes of Rhonda massaging his leg before the cramps began to dissipate and the pain let him go. When it finally disappeared, he felt hollowed-out an exhausted.

"Better now?" Rhonda asked as Sam began to relax.

"Yeah … thank-you."

"No problem. You're lucky I was here; I've been told that I have magic fingers," Rhonda kidded with a wink, wiggling her fingers for effect. Sam gave her a quick, uncomfortable grin and tried not to appear a little creeped out that she had just had her 'magic fingers' all over his thigh.

She then patted Sam's shoulder, "Don't worry, you probably just over did it a little bit and it's going to take time for your leg to adjust to the prosthetic."

Rhonda gave Sam a set of instructions and exercises to continue at home and handed the prosthetic to Dean to hold for him while Sam got his crutches. A few moments later they were out of the physiotherapy gym and heading out the door to the parking lot.

"Man, Sammy. I think that cougar had thing for you – she couldn't keep her hands off of ya," Dean pointed out and grinned jokingly as he opened the car door for his brother, "But then again, sometimes it's better to go for a woman with a little of experience, if you know what I mean."

"Not _that_ much experience," Sam quickly replied with a shudder, getting into the car.

Dean climbed in behind the steering wheel, still carrying Sam's new artificial leg. Dean handed Sam the leg and quipped, "You got to admit, that thing's pretty cool. I guess this means we can start calling you the bionic man now - just like Lee Majors."

"Lee Majors was the _Six-Million Dollar Man_ – not the bionic man," Sam corrected him; "Lindsay Wagner was the bionic one."

"Okay … so I'll call you the bionic _woman_ … you look more like Lindsay Wagner with that shaggy hair of yours anyway, bitch."

Sam raised the leg threateningly, but with a playful grin, "Shut up, jerk or I'll beat you over the head with this thing."

OOOOOO

**_The next morning..._**

The house was dark and loomed ahead as John pulled his truck into the lot of the salvage yard. He parked next to the Impala which confirmed to him that his sons were still inside the home and he shut off the engine.

John had driven straight from Florida, only stopping for gas along the way and forgoing any sleep in order to turn a normally 30-hour journey into an 18-hour one. But, now that he had arrived, he was hesitant to go to the door.

There were all kinds of things he wanted to say to his sons – especially Sam, but he had no idea where he should start. Dean would be angry that he hadn't called back – that he had put the job first before finally checking his phone to hear his messages. And Sam … well … how could he tell him that he hadn't meant the things he said – that he had only been so scared for Sam taking off on his own that he nearly lost his mind? How could he apologize without losing face – without his boys thinking that he was weak or that he couldn't stand by the decisions he made?

Even though he had been wrong … so very wrong – how was he going to admit that?

Bottom line, he was scared.

John had been in war, faced monsters, witches, ghosts, and all sorts of things that would frighten the pants off of ordinary people, but somehow, facing his sons and coming clean about his mistakes was the most terrifying thing he had ever had to deal with.

He ran a hand across his tired face. It was well past 2 AM, he was exhausted, and the house gave no sign that anyone inside was awake. Perhaps it would be for the best if he left, got some sleep, and returned in the morning when he and his boys might be in a more agreeable mood.

He gave one last, long look at the house then started the engine again and pulled away.

OOOOOO

Dean heard the rumble of the engine through the window and was instantly awake. He knew without looking through the window who it was that had just pulled up to the house, yet he still carefully peered through it to get a visual.

From his vantage point on the second floor, Dean saw the big, black truck parked alongside his car and ground his teeth together. It had been two weeks of him calling and leaving message after message with his father and _now_ he was just going to show up?

He hadn't had a chance to prepare Sam for the inevitable show-down that would undoubtedly occur between prodigal son and father and he wasn't even sure that his brother was up to it yet.

Dean turned and decided to head his father off at the pass before he barged into the house and the fireworks could begin. He was only as far as the stairs when he heard the engine of the big truck rev back up and by the time he made it to the door and the porch, the big truck was already half-way down the driveway and almost to the road.

"Shit …" Dean muttered angrily, watching the truck and his father drive off, "Oh no you don't -"

Dean wasn't really thinking when he ran back into the house and grabbed his car keys, but he was going to talk to his father and a phone call wasn't going to cut it. He needed to see him face to face before he came back and demanded to see Sam and got the same shock Dean had received when he first saw his brother's missing leg.

Keeping a safe distance from the truck as he drove, Dean followed him to a run-down motel on the edge of town. His father was already in the motel office getting a room as he pulled up next to the truck and parked.

Dean got out of the car just as he father was leaving the office, "Dad –"

John stopped and appraised his son, "Dean. You need to work on your tailing skills, son. I knew you were following me since Bobby's."

"Yeah … I figured."

Father and son stood face to face for a moment until John broke the mini-stalemate with a heavy sigh, "C'mon. Let's got to the room and talk."

Dean followed his father to the room, entered after him and shut the door only a moment before going off on him. "What the Hell, Dad? I called you two weeks ago … what happened? Have you been in Florida this whole time? Why didn't you call back?"

"Whoa –" John turned on his son, "You want to try scaling back the attitude?"

Dean stepped back, feeling the heat of his father's eyes drilling into him and he cast his gaze down obediently, "Sorry …sir"

John sighed, tore off his jacket and tossed it on the bed. "Yeah … I was in Florida. That poltergeist case turned out to be longer than I expected and I guess I was too wrapped up in it to check my messages until yesterday and I drove straight up after I got them. Now what is this about Sam being in an accident? You were a little less than specific. Is he alright?"

Dean gulped and swallowed hard.

"I didn't want to tell you over voicemail … but uh …"

"What, Dean? Spit it out already."

Dean decided just to tell it like it was– like pulling off a bandaid off a hairy arm – better to just get it over with quick and in one go.

"Sam was hit by a drunk driver in a hit and run …" Dean started, "the car ran over his legs – busted one up pretty bad and the other – the other one couldn't be saved."

John stared at him incomprehensively, "_What?"_

Dean swallowed again, "He lost a leg, Dad."

John shook his head and started to pace, "When?"

"'bout three months ago while Sam was at school."

John stopped in his tracks, "Three months? …. _Three months_? And I'm just hearing about it now? Why weren't we called and why didn't you say so in your message? _Son of a bitch!_ Did you and Bobby think you could really keep this from me?"

Dean raised his hands to ward off another explosion from his father and felt the sting of anger enter his voice, "Dad stop! Bobby tried, but he couldn't find us. We had to get rid of all of our old phones and hardly anyone knows our new numbers. Remember? The rugaru? And I tried to call you - but you never answered. I didn't tell you everything in the messages I left because I didn't want you to find out that way -I knew you'd be upset and I wanted to do it in person."

"You still should have told me, Dean." His father spat back. "All of it - even if it was over the phone."

"I know - I'm sorry, okay?" Dean came back apologetically, "But what's done is done. Look ... you're here now and you know what's going on, so can we talk about this without shouting?"

John shook his head, but appeared to cool off a little, "Goddammit … " John whispered and deflated in front of Dean's eyes like a balloon with a slow leak. He took a seat on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, then rubbed his hand across his face, looking suddenly older. He shook his head, still trying to absorb the news, "Sam … he uh … how is he?"

"He's better." Dean wasn't about to mention just how broken Sam was when he first saw him, but he told his father the truth when he said that Sam was getting better, because he was –each day he amazed Dean with his progress, "He went through a lot, but you know Sammy … he wasn't raised to be a wuss, so he's hanging in there."

"You uh … you think he'd be ready to see me?"

"I dunno … are _you _ready to see him? Are you ready to say you were wrong and let him back into the Winchester fan club?" Dean questioned back.

His father's hard eyes met Dean's pointed gaze and he knew that his father was still too stubborn and proud to admit that he had acted rashly. But John Winchester had never apologized for anything in his life, not even when the mistakes he made were enormous. For the longest time, Dean thought that was something that made his father a strong leader, but over the past year since his dad declared Sam persona non grata, some of that strident loyalty he had in the man had been eroded.

Dean suddenly felt a fresh wave of frustration with the whole situation between his brother and father and decided right then and there that something needed to be done about it and he needed to take a stand. Even if he was uncomfortable with taking sides, Sam was the one he needed to look out for the most right then.

"Look … " Dean started, "I know you both said some things that you regret, but _you_ have to be willing to bite the big one and apologize. I know it's not something you're big into, and yes, Sam needs to apologize to you too. But one of you needs to make the first move and if it's not going to be you … then maybe you should just stay away for now."

John looked up sharply. There was a blaze of anger in his eyes that flashed bright for a moment then he dropped his head and stared back down at his lap, and said nothing.

Dean didn't have any more to say to his father and headed for the door to leave– it was all up to him now whether he and Sam could ever reconcile or if he would ever swallow his pride and admit that he was wrong.

"I'm going to stay with Sam at Bobby's for a while, so you'll know where we'll be whenever you make up your mind."

"Wait -" His father called from the bed, "What about the drunk driver? Did the police catch him?"

"Nah … they interviewed some guy that owned a car that matched the description Sam's friend gave to police, but his father was some sort of hot-shot lawyer and they couldn't find enough evidence to charge him. Why does it matter? There's not much we can do about it."

Dean saw his father's eyes darken dangerously. "I just needed to know."

OOOOOO

Unsurprisingly, John didn't show up the next day and when Dean drove by the motel, he found that his father had gone.  
>That same day he got a text message from his dad that consisted of four words: <em>Take care of Sam<em>. Dean regularly checked his phone for any other word from his dad after that, but every day it stayed stubbornly silent.

Dean never told Sam about their father's visit and he hid his anger and disappointment in his father as best as he could and instead focused all of his energy on getting his brother walking.

Another month went by and during that time Sam made progress on his new leg and soon he was walking without the use of crutches, using only a cane to help maintain his balance. Dean continued to take walks with Sam during this time to build up his strength and while he got along well with the cane, he still limped and their walks were usually taken at a rather slow pace.

It was on a warm, summer day at the end of August that he and Sam were returning from one of these walks that Dean noticed that something was wrong. Sam's limping was getting worse, and by the time they were back in the salvage yard, he was red in the face and breathing hard. Dean could see by the way his brother's eyebrows came together in a 'V' that the pain in what was left of his leg was giving him some trouble.

Dean led Sam over to the bumper of a rusty, dead Ford and beckoned him to sit with him.

"You okay?" Dean asked right off.

Sam grunted as he sat down then started to roll up his pant leg and shucked off the artificial leg, tossing it to the ground, his nostrils flaring in frustration.

"What gives, man?" Dean demanded to know.

"It fucking hurts, that's what gives." Sam replied immediately, rubbing his leg angrily.

"Why didn't you say anything before we left?"

"Because … I need to get better at this and I'm sick of hobbling around like a gimp."

"There's no rush, Sam and you're getting better. Just last week we could only go a quarter of a mile and today we did twice that – there's no need to push so hard. You'll just end up hurting yourself."

Sam shook his head, "You don't understand … "

"What don't I understand?"

"I was hoping to … " Sam stopped, bent over and picked his leg up off of the ground, "forget it."

"Sam … What?"

Sam sighed heavily and dropped his head, "School's supposed to start in a few weeks…"

_Ohhhh … Crap …._

"I've been thinking about going back. Can't stay here at Bobby's forever, ya know? But … How am I supposed to get around campus like this?"

"Why don't you just take a little more time off? We can talk about you going back next semester."

"Dean … I need to go back to save my scholarship … besides, I just want _some_ things in my life to go back to normal."

Dean kicked at some pebbles at his feet. He should have seen this coming. He knew Sam would want to go back to school, but he had been naïve to think that it wouldn't be so soon.

As much as he hated to admit it, Sam had a point; life had to go sooner or later. On top of that, he always did have a hard time saying 'no' to his little brother.

"It's what you really want?"

"Yeah … I really want it."

"Okay … Then we'll get you ready " Dean nodded slowly, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of letting Sam go off on his own again. "Now … how's that leg doing?"

"S'just Sore."

"Bullshit. Lemme see."

"Dean …"

"Shut it, bitch … lemme see it."

Sam rolled his eyes then lifted his leg. Dean was past being hesitant to hold the stump of Sam's leg, but it still triggered a pang of grief whenever he did. However, now that his kid brother had his new leg, welts were starting for form where the pressure of the socket created friction. Even with the specialized sock Sam wore over the end of his stump, they were unable to prevent them and Dean made a mental note to make sure that he got Sam in for another appointment with the prothetist to get it refitted as soon as possible.

Dean carefully pulled off the sock and winced, the welts that had been there before were now full-blown, bleeding sores.

"Jeez, Sammy."

"It's not that bad …"

"Like Hell these aren't …c'mon, let's get you inside and get these cleaned up, then you can spend the rest of the day on the couch and out of that contraption."

"Sounds exciting." Sam mused sarcastically.

"Won't be so bad - I'll go out and rent us some movies – how does _Mystery Science Theatre 3000_ sound?"

"Which one? "

"How about _Manos: The Hands of Fate_?"

"Ehhh … What about _The_ _Brain That Wouldn't Die?_ – at least that one's got a plot."

"That's debatable, but why not?"

Dean helped Sam up from the bumper of the car and let his brother use him for support back into the house.

OOOOOO

**_Two weeks later_**

Bobby stood on the porch, watching Sam and Dean pack their things into the Impala with a heavy feeling in his heart. He'd never say that the last few months had been easy, because they hadn't, but all the same, he was really going to miss those two.

Sam was determined to go back to school and no amount of coaxing to get him to stay and recuperate a little longer on either his or Dean's part was going to change his mind. Though Sam had come far since those first few days in the hospital and had worked hard to get back his mobility and independence, he worried about what might happen when he was out of his sight.

Bobby almost felt a small connection there with John and why he had been such a dick about letting Sam go to college. But then again, Bobby could never imagine telling either of these boys to leave and never come back. Now that they were back in his life, he wouldn't hear of not seeing them again.

What Dean would do once Sam was back at school was another worry that weighed on the older hunter's mind as well. Dean was tight-lipped about his father, but Bobby wasn't born yesterday and it was clear that the young man was pissed as Hell at him. Yet given how many times a day Bobby caught Dean checking his phone for messages from the only person who had his number also told him that the kid was hurt by their separation and Bobby wouldn't be surprised if Dean didn't take off to find his father once Sam was safely back at classes.

Then there was the fact that Bobby was feeling rather sorry for himself as well. Once Sam and Dean were gone, he'd be back to making dinners for one and his house was going to feel even bigger and emptier than it had before. He had gotten used to their presence and even when they were bickering, hogging the shower, or eating every scrap of food in his fridge, it had been nice to feel needed – to be a part of their lives again and to be someone they could depend on.

Then again, maybe he was just getting old and tired of being alone all of the time.

Bobby sighed and walked down the steps of the porch and walked on over to the duo, "All set?" He asked.

Dean shut the trunk with a metallic bang, "Just about. You ready, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded and tossed his cane into the back seat then turned towards Bobby with a grateful smile. He shut the door and took a careful step forward, he still had balance issues, but he was getting better at moving around without crutches or the cane. Sam spread out his arms and Bobby didn't hesitate to pull the boy into a tight hug.

Sam responded with equal force and squeezed Bobby, speaking to him as he rested his chin on Bobby's shoulder, "You've done so much for me. I don't know how to thank you, Bobby."

Bobby pulled away, but kept a solid grip on Sam's upper arms, "Just come back and visit this old man once in a while and we'll call it even, got it?"

Sam grinned and nodded, "Sure … How does Thanksgiving sound? I'll even bring a turkey."

Bobby chuckled, and let Sam go, "As long as you're not the one to cook it. I'd rather not have my house burn down."

Dean sauntered up and slapped Bobby on the shoulder, "Well. Kids … I think it's time we got this show on the road," Dean held out his hand for him to shake, but Bobby had other ideas.

"Sam? You think you could give me and Dean a moment?" Sam nodded and climbed into the car. Once the door was shut, Bobby turned back to Dean.

"I guess you're planning on going back to hunting?" He asked the younger man.

"I don't know what else I would do. Besides, Sam doesn't really need me any more …"

"Bullshit, Dean. He's your brother and he'll always need you."

Dean looked down at his shoes for a moment then looked back up, "Thanks for everything Bobby … for taking care Sam and stuff."

"It was nothin' " Bobby sighed, "Look, son. I want you to take of yourself and if you need anything … anything all … you call me, you hear? And tell that idjit father of yours that when he gets his head out of his ass, then he's welcome back here as well, got it?"

"Yessir."

"Don't 'yessir' me, you moron. Just don't be a stranger, okay?"

Dean cocked a grin and slapped Bobby on the shoulder one last time before he walked over to the car, climbed in then drove off, leaving the older hunter and a cloud of dust behind.

OOOOOO

"You could always stick around for a while." Sam suggested, sitting in the car and looking at the building that would be his home for the next year once again. "You don't have to go right back into hunting, you know."

Sam turned his head towards his brother. Dean kept his sight ahead through the windshield as he gripped the steering wheel tight, "Nah … this is your thing, Sam. Not mine."

"Maybe it's not, but that doesn't mean can't find '_your _thing', Dean … something that doesn't involve risking your skin everyday –" Sam added in a quieter voice, "something won't leave me sleepless at night worrying about you."

"I'll be fine."

Sam grit his teeth, it was time he laid it all bare, and let Dean know how he felt, "I know what you did, Dean – I know you must have stood up to dad in order for him to stay out of things for so long… and I gotta tell you … it took balls to do that and … I appreciate it. But now that I'm going back to school, that doesn't mean you have to go crawling back him. You don't have to live under his thumb-"

"Sam –" Dean cut Sam's rant short, turning to face him, registering as sudden fierceness, "He's our father. I know he's not perfect – maybe not even close … but what you don't get is that you're both so alike that it is downright scary - both of you too stubborn to apologize to each other. I get that maybe you just aren't meant to be around each other right now, but you're _both_ still myfamily and I have to watch out for each of you. That's my job … it's my 'thing', as you call it. "

Sam paled and sat still in the tensely silent car with his brother. He swallowed the lump in his throat because this was it – he knew there was no talking Dean out of tracking down their father and going back to the lifestyle that Sam so desperately hated.

"Fine…" Sam croaked, "Just promise me that you'll stay safe, will ya?"

"You know I can't promise that, but I'll try. "

"You better."

Sam was out of the car with his backpack on and cane in hand after that, but before his brother could take off, he leaned into the open window, "Hey, when you find Dad - if asks or if he cares ... just tell him that I'm okay - that I'll be fine here."

"Yeah … I will." Dean assured him then added, "And he does care, Sammy. He just has a hard time showing it."

OOOOO

Dean found his father 30 miles from Vegas in a little town out in the desert. What the hell he was doing there or what he might have been hunting he wasn't sure, but when he knocked on the door to John's motel room, he was covered in dirt and had dark, exhausted circles under his eyes.

"Dean?" His father seemed genuinely surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

His father stood aside and let Dean into the room. "I could ask you the same thing."

"How did you find me?"

"Wasn't hard. I just tracked the GPS in your phone, which should have been a lot harder than it was considering how little you use the damn thing." Dean remarked, trying not to sound bitter about the lack of communication with his father over the last few weeks.

"You can do that?"

"Yeah Dad … modern technology is a marvel these days. I'll show you how to do it sometime."

"Why aren't you at Bobby's with Sam?"

Dean sighed and took a seat on John's bed. He was still pissed at his dad for not showing up and talking to Sam, but he had come to realize during the time he had spent with his brother helping him recover that he too needed more time to work out his own issues before the two could meet. "Sam's at school again. He's back on his feet and getting around better. He wanted to go back so, he went back" Dean splayed out his hands, " And here I am."

"Sammy … he's doing good?" He asked, clearly still worried about his youngest son.

"Yeah."

"Walking?"

"He won't be running any marathons for a while, but yeah, he has a prosthetic leg now and if you give him time, he could probably out-run the two of us."

John looked genuinely relieved, "Good."

Dean kinda felt like slapping him, if he had only called once in a while, he would have known that already. He couldn't say why his father hadn't bothered to check in every once in a while, but that was his father's way ... he always did have a problem with only sharing information on a need to know basis.

"Soooo …" Dean began, wanting to change the subject – he didn't want to think about how much he already missed his brother. "What have you been up to out here in the desert – hunting a chupacabra?"

Clearly his father had been hunting something, he was filthy as though he had just finished digging up a grave, but Dean couldn't recall seeing any cemeteries anywhere near this little town. Then again, maybe his father hadn't been digging something up, but rather using the desert to bury something in it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time some creature's body needed to be disposed of where it couldn't be traced.

His father's face darkened and Dean could have sworn he saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, but it came and went so fast, that he couldn't be sure that he actually saw it, "I won't go into the details … but I had to get rid of a monster - a very dangerous one that got away with hurting people and putting others at risk for far too long. I was sure he would kill someone sooner or later – so I did what I had to do."

Okay … that was vague, even for his father. Maybe that's been the reason for the silence - he had been on a hunt. But why he couldn't tell Dean about it was beyond him.

"I'm not planning on staying the night here; I just want to take a shower then get on the road. I've been doing some research and it looks like there might be a soucouyant in Louisiana. You interested?" John asked.

Dean shrugged, "Why not?"

OOOOOOOO

Sam say heavily down on his bed, pulled off his leg and tossed it onto the mattress. Damn … getting around campus was doing a number on him already and he had only been back a couple of days. The sores that had just started to heal were opening up again and he knew he would need to get the socket of the leg re-fitted soon even though he had just had it adjusted a couple of weeks ago. He just wasn't sure when he would be able to find the time with classes starting in just two days.

He carefully pulled the sock from his stump, wincing as it stuck to the weeping ulcers. For now, he would just have to clean and bandage them up as best as he could, take some extra vicodin and try to ignore the pain in the leg that wasn't freakin' there anymore.

No problem.

Sam was finishing up getting the wounds on his leg bandaged up when he heard a snick at the door's lock followed by a turn of the knob. Sam quickly moved to roll his pant leg back down; he didn't want the man trying to get in to see his stump of a leg.

He was pretty sure of who was entering and when the door opened, his suspicions were confirmed. He felt a wide grin stretch across his face.

"Sam?"

"Brady … hey man."

Brady strode across the room and engulfed Sam in a tight embrace, "Dude, I wasn't sure you'd be back. Damn, it's so good to see you," Brady stepped back and appraised him, "You look good."

Sam nodded, "You too."

Brady's eyes landed on the leg Sam had tossed on the bed, but he made no mention of it. Instead he slapped Sam on the shoulder, "I'm so glad I won't have to share this room with some other douchbag."

"Yeah, looks like you're stuck with me again."

Brady's smile was infectious, "We should go out – celebrate your triumphant return, ya know? I'll even pay. How's that sound?"

Sam didn't really feel up to 'celebrating' since his leg was giving him fits, but Brady seemed so eager that he didn't want to spoil his friend's good mood, "I guess as long as you're paying –"

"Yeah, just let me get my stuff put away and we'll go to _Freddy's_."

_Freddy's_ was a sports bar just off campus that was a frequent hang-out for many of the students. Though Sam and Brady were still underage, they were rarely carded there and getting a beer or two to go with dinner suddenly didn't sound like such a bad idea.

While his friend left the room to go and gather the rest of his things, Sam slipped his leg back on, took a few more pills and tried to do his best to ignore the stinging pain radiating from where the socket made contact with the remnants of his leg. By the time his roommate returned, Sam was on his feet and ready to leave.

Brady talked the whole way as he drove the two of them to the bar, chatting Sam up about what he did over the summer, how he got a job back home and saved up enough money to buy the little Hyundai hatchback he was driving and he let Sam know he was free to borrow it whenever he wasn't using it.

By the time they made it to the bar and grill, Sam's leg was throbbing , but he pushed through the pain, doing his best not to limp as they walked into the establishment.

They were seated at a booth where Sam had a direct view ahead of him of a big-screen TV. It was still early and the restaurant portion of the bar was practically empty which Sam didn't really mind, since he was tired and didn't want to have to deal with crowds of people that night.

Brady perused the menu while Sam took one more vicodin to calm the pulsing in his leg. It was while he took a swallow of water to chase the pill down that his attention was suddenly drawn to the TV. Normally when they went there was a baseball, basketball, or football game playing on the screens, but being only 5 pm on a Tuesday, there weren't any games on and instead they had the TV turned to the local news.

Sam sat transfixed. Brady had his back to the TV and was unaware of the news segment that had captured his friend and focused solely and what he was going to order.

The screen displayed the image of a house with a dark blue sedan parked in the driveway.

His mind flashed in rewind, seeing a dark blue sedan swerving all over; barreling down the street towards Brady – he saw wheels, smelled burning rubber –

His heart started to race.

_"According to police witnesses, 32 year old Elliot Merkle, son of prominent Palo Alto attorney, Neil Merkle, was last seen partying at a friend's house until 2 a.m. Saturday night. The next morning, a friend came to check on the man, finding his car was parked in front of his home on Cherry Street, but there was no answer at the door. The man left and then called police to conduct a welfare check on Monday morning when Merkle failed to show for work. Police entered the residence and discovered evidence of blood, but no signs of forced entry or robbery." _

The frame changed again and a picture of the missing man standing next to his car was displayed, igniting another round of memories to come plowing into Sam's head.

"_Foul play is suspected in his disappearance and police noted that Merkle had an extensive arrest record for drunk driving, drug possession and dealing, and came up as a person of interest involving a hit and run accident on the Stanford University campus in May, but was never charged due to a lack of evidence. Police are asking the public to call the tip line if they have seen Merkle or know of his whereabouts …" _

The screen flashed to a photo of a rotund man with dark brown hair and wide-set, hooded eyes that seemed to stare at Sam.

_"And now on to weather with chief meteorologist, Chet Cummings …"_

Sam shivered, frozen in place as the news prattled on.

"Sam? … " Brady tried to attract his attention, but his thoughts had drifted far away. He was there again, lying on the asphalt, bleeding –dying …

"Sam … you okay?" Brady reached across the table and tapped Sam's hand, causing the images of the blue sedan and the pain he was reliving to slowly vanish. He blinked and tried to breathe normally, but he was unable to control the shaking in his hands.

He felt his stomach bottoming out. Maybe it was just coincidence that the missing man was the same man questioned about the accident and that he just happened to disappear the same day Dean dropped him back off at school.

Then again, he had been trained since he was a little boy to not believe in coincidences.

_Dean … please tell me you didn't -_

"I need some air …" Sam grabbed his cane and slid out of the booth, limping out the door just in time to throw up into the bushes.

**_To Be Continued ..._**

* * *

> <p><p> 


	5. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry, I've been terrible about replying to everyone's reviews, but I really do appreciate everyone that has been reading and sticking with this story. Anyhoo, here's the next chapter:**

**Chapter 6**

_**Four months later**_

Bobby couldn't help but grin seeing the young man walking towards him minus the cane. To anyone else, he was just another guy in an airport full of people strolling about, trying to get to their gates on time, and aside from a slight limp, no one would have known that he was handicapped in any way.

Sam too seemed happy to see him and he picked up his pace a little when he caught sight of Bobby. Before long, he was standing toe to toe with the boy, clasping his shoulder with one hand and gripping his forearm with the other.

"God, it's good to see ya, kid."

"You too, Bobby. Thanks for letting me come stay with you over the holidays. "

"Didn't want you spending winter break all by yourself. Besides, I don't mind the company and I haven't seen you in months."

"Yeah … Sorry about missing thanksgiving. Things at school were pretty hectic."

"Must have been." Bobby eyed Sam carefully, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the weight he had lost. He looked as if a stiff wind might knock him over.

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah … I'm fine. Just looking forward to a little time off."

Bobby knew when he was being lied to, but held his tongue, deciding to wait in order to give the kid the third degree until after they were out of the crowded terminal "All right then … let's go."

Sioux Falls Regional Airport wasn't exactly a major hub, so getting Sam's bag from the baggage carousel then getting out and back to Bobby's house went rather swiftly. Bobby still had Sam's bed set-up in his library from last time and the boy wordlessly dropped his bag on top of it before heaving a sigh and sinking his bottom onto it as well.

"Long flight?" Bobby asked.

Sam just nodded, rolled up his pant leg then pulled his artificial leg off and laid it down on the bed next to his things. Sam's face relaxed in relief – the leg must have been giving him grief for him to take it off so readily.

"You hungry? I was gonna heat up a can of Beef stew."

Sam shook his head, "Nah … just tired. It's been a long day, and walking around all these airports hasn't been a whole lot of fun, ya know?"

That alone might have explained some of Sam's haggard appearance, but something else was clearly going on with him. However, Bobby figured that it might be better to wait until after Sam got a good night's rest before he tried to wrangle the truth out of him.

"Alright, why don't you get some sleep and we can play catch up tomorrow."

Sam nodded as he yawned, "Sounds good. Thanks."

Bobby turned to leave the room and slid the doors that partitioned the library off from the dining room together, but left them open a crack since they tended to stick together if they were shut all of the way. It was something he had meant to fix for years, but it was rather low on his to-do list.

He got to the kitchen when he remembered that there was only one thin blanket on Sam's bed and with winter weather expected that evening, the kid would probably be pretty cold. Bobby headed for his linen closet and pulled out a heavy comforter that Sam could use then made his way back through the dining room and up to the double doors of the library.

Bobby was about to knock on the doors when he caught a glance of Sam through the crack between them and stopped. Sam was still on bed and had a prescription bottle in his hand, pouring out five, large oblong white pills which he popped into his mouth one at a time and swallowed down.

He had seen Sam take his meds often enough to recognize the vicodin when he saw it and he knew also from his experience taking care of the kid that he was taking far more of the drug than he should. He should have been tapering off the pain meds by now and it took almost everything Bobby had within him to not kick the door in and knock some sense into the kid right then and there.

However, Bobby decided that he had to play it cool so as not the scare him away and have him running for the hills back to California. Instead, he politely knocked on the doors before opening them up.

He tried not to glare at Sam as he handed him the extra blanket. "Here, got you this."

"Thanks." Sam said as he took the blanket then noticed Bobby's stern gaze, "Something wrong?"

Bobby wrestled with whether or not he should ask Sam about the pills right then or confront him in the morning after he had a little time to think about what he should do about this and make some calls. He decided on the latter, "Nah … I'll see you in the morning."

Sam nodded warily, "Kay … good night."

OOOOOOO

Sam knew something was wrong with Bobby before he fell asleep, but when he woke in the morning to the smell of bacon and eggs frying and found the older hunter setting out plates for the two of them at the kitchen table, it seemed as though whatever had been on Bobby's mind was gone.

He took a seat at the table and Bobby wordlessly dumped a heap of eggs on his plate then gave some to Sam, "Thanks. Smells good."

"No problem."

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Sam got the sense that Bobby wanted to say something.

"So … everything going okay at school?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quickly, seeing no need to go into detail.

"You sure? " Bobby asked, not believing Sam.

"Why?"

"'Cause you look like Hell, that's why. I called that roommate of yours – he says you haven't been yourself lately – you're grades are slipping and you spend more time sleeping than you do studying. So don't lie to me, Sam – "

"I'm fine, Bobby … really. Things are good, just a little stressful."

"So ... How many of those pills are you taking every day?"

"What?"

"You heard me. The vicodin – how much are you taking?"

Sam paled and pushed his plate away, "It's medication prescribed to me by a doctor, Bobby. I don't take it to get high if that's what you're worried about – I just take enough to deal with the pain."

"And how much is that?"

"As much as it takes." Sam snapped, but knew that didn't sound good, so he added, "Look … sometimes I have to take a little more than the usual dose to make the pain better and it makes me a little sleepy. But, my grades are still good enough to keep my scholarship and I've got it all under control."

"Really? Tell me Sam, how much did you take this morning just to get out bed, huh?"

Sam was taken aback by Bobby's direct question and didn't dare answer it.

"You wouldn't understand, Bobby …"

"Oh really? Does this sound familiar? You started off taking one or two at a time and that was enough dull the pain for a few hours, but after a while, two wasn't enough to cut it, you started having to take three or four at a time for you to even feel an effect. Even then, it wouldn't last long enough, so you had to take them more often. And now … even on the days where the pain's not that bad you still take just as much because if you don't, you feel shaky and sick. How am I doing so far, Sam? Am I close?"

Sam swallowed hard and looked away from Bobby's intense stare, overcome with shame and anger. He wasn't stupid, he knew taking that much vicodin wasn't good, but what choice did he have? It wasn't like he took the drug to get high – the pain was real and how was he supposed to function and get around on a leg that always hurt without it? And who the Hell was Bobby to call him some kind of drug addict anyway? The older hunter wasn't his father, yet somehow his calm accusations were just as hurtful as one of his Dad's loud rants about what a fuck-up he was.

"What is this ... a fucking intervention? I'm not a drug addict if that's what you think …" Sam spat back.

"If it quacks it must be duck!" Bobby shouted back, "Just look at yourself, will ya? You're thinner than I've ever seen ya and you're strung out tighter than my mama's clothesline."

"I don't need this crap ..." Sam muttered, growing increasingly angry as he got up from the table and headed back to the library; he knew when it was time to leave. He started cramming his things back into his bag and had it zipped up and ready to go by the time Bobby entered the room.

Bobby stood in front of the door, blocking Sam's pathway out, "Where you going?"

"Back to school. I'll spend my vacation there."

"I don't think so." Bobby crossed his arms, refusing to let Sam by.

"Bobby … you need to move."

"No … you need help, Sam."

"I swear to God, if you don't get out of my way I'll –"

"You'll what? Hit me? Go ahead – give it your best shot, boy."

Sam really did feel like hitting him and his fist was flying before he could stop it. Bobby caught it easily before it could connect with his face and had Sam's wrist locked in a vice grip the next second, twisting it behind Sam's back, knocking him off balance and plummeting him down onto the bed.

"Now, you listen to me, Sam, "Bobby pointed at him with a sharp edge in his voice, "You're staying whether I have to tie you to that cotton-pickin' bed or not. So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You're choice."

"You can't do that, Bobby –"

"Like hell I can't."

"What are you gonna do? You can't babysit me forever."

Just as those words left Sam's mouth, there was a distant sound of an engine rumbling up the drive and approaching Bobby's house.

Bobby heard the sound as well and grinned, "You're right. I can't keep an eye on you day and night all by myself – that's why I called the cavalry in for some reinforcements."

As the noise of the nearing car came closer, Sam recognized the pitch and timbre of the engine and shot Bobby a look of betrayal. "No … Bobby, you didn't."

"I sure did."

OOOOOOO

Sam's head throbbed in time to his heartbeat and he was certain that he was going to throw-up yet again.

Four days … four days of this shit and things weren't getting any better.

Dean kept a constant watch on Sam, acting like a bouncer at a strip club, except he was determined to keep Sam in the house instead of out of it. Dean had come alone and Sam didn't ask where he had been or where their father was – all he knew was that his brother had dropped everything and come at Bobby's request. Sam hadn't wanted his brother to see him like this, but he was too tired and sick to care anymore.

Bobby also watched him like a hawk and was the only one allowed anywhere near his pills, doling out less and less to Sam as each day passed – saying that it was better to wean him off slowly than go cold turkey.

But it wasn't a slow enough weaning process to Sam and even with the medication he was still receiving, he was sure he was going to die.

He was so sick of all of this. Most of the time he was too hot and then two minutes later he was freezing his ass off. His hands shook, his head ached, his stomach twisted until he puked, he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and on top of that his foot itched, which was just perfect since he couldn't scratch something that wasn't fucking there anymore.

Sam groaned then pulled the blanket around him tighter and curled into a ball on the bed.

Dean and Bobby both told him over and over again during this forced detox that they were doing was 'for his own good', but Sam couldn't see how killing him by withdrawal was supposed make anything better. He'd rather take his chances and stay on the vicodin forever –even if the doctor was starting to reduce the amount of pills he gave him with each visit – he'd find a way to get his hands on the stuff.

Why couldn't Bobby and Dean understand that he fucking needed it to live? That he didn't take the stuff for fun – that it was the only thing that could control the pain and shut out memories and thoughts he didn't want to deal with.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut against another wave of nausea. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, but he didn't have the strength to bat it away.

"I got you some water, Sam. You need to drink something."

_No. I need my goddamn medicine_, Sam felt like saying, but all that came out was a moan.

"C'mon … you gotta sit up and get some fluids in ya or Bobby and me are gonna have to stick you with an IV. You want that?"

"G'way." Sam mumbled into his pillow.

"Don't be such a drama queen. Now sit up before I make you sit up."

Sam imagined Dean's face as a piñata, strung up in a tree so Sam could bash it with a stick.

Dean gave out a weary sigh, "Fine … guess I'm going to have to do this the hard way."

He hooked a hand around Sam's bicep and started to haul him up against his will, but Sam couldn't find the energy to fight him and let him pull him up until he was fully upright. Dean then thrust a glass of water into his hands, "Drink it."

Sam shot daggers at his brother from his eyes, but found that he actually was quite thirsty once the water touched his tongue and he downed the whole glass.

"There see … that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Is it t-time yet?" Sam asked, feeling his teeth start to chatter.

"Two more hours."

"sh-shit…" Sam flopped back down in the bed and brought the blanket back up to his chin

"Don't worry. Bobby will bring your next dose when it's time. You'll survive."

"Fuck you."

"Jeez, Sammy - sounds like college is really paying off – your vocabulary certainly has expanded."

"I'd rather be there than here right now."

"Well, once we get you cleaned up and off of this crap, you can go back." Dean took a seat on the bed with a sigh, "Trust me – school, the pain – all of it will be better when we get all of this shit out of your system. It's for your own good."

"God … will you just stop saying that?" Sam snapped, now feeling heat on his skin and shucking off the too-warm blanket and sitting up fast enough for his vision to spin. "As if you know what's best for me –"

"In case you haven't noticed, Sam, you're not exactly in a clear state of mind right now, so yes, I do happen to know what's best for you."

"Right …" It was time for Sam to bring out the big guns, "Like you knew what was best for me the day you dropped me back off at school and paid a visit to Elliot Merkle."

Dean's face scrunched in confusion, "Who? What are you talking about?"

Sam couldn't believe that Dean could deny what he had done, "You know – Elliot Merkle? The man the police thought might have hit me – who got away with it? He disappeared the same day you brought me back to school so don't lie to me and say that you had nothing to do with it! What? Did you think it would make me feel better if he fell off the face of the planet? It didn't – all it did was make me sick to my stomach thinking about what you might have done to him. So just tell me the truth, did you make him go missing? Did you kill him?"

"Goddammit, Sam. I can't believe this shit! ..." Dean responded with instant and incredulous anger, "You think I killed the guy? I swear to you – I don't know what happened to the bastard. When I dropped you off that day, I left town to find Dad. End of story. Whatever happened to him – it wasn't me and that's the God's honest truth."

Sam was certain he wasn't hallucinating the sincerity in Dean's voice and face. Dean was a masterful liar to most people, but Sam could always read his brother's facial expressions. "You didn't do it, did you?"

"Of course I didn't. I'm not kidnapper or a murderer, Sam. Shit … you know me better than that."

Sam felt like a weight that had been dragging him down for months had been lifted. Bearing the thought that Dean might have killed someone out of revenge for Sam's sake had almost crushed him. He should have known better – Dean wasn't a killer – sure, he killed plenty of things, but none of them had been human.

Sam dropped his head as his headache flared, feeling ashamed for believing that his brother could have done such a thing for so long. "God, Dean … I'm sorry."

"Whatever, dude." Dean shrugged of Sam's accusations as if they never happened and got back to the business of taking care of his little brother. "Just lay down and get some sleep, will ya?" Dean pointed to the bed while Sam lay back down and shivered, suddenly cold again. Dean lifted the blanket and tucked it in around him.

Sam had no trouble falling asleep after that.

OOOOOO

Four days later, Sam woke up feeling clear headed for the first time in over a week. As soon as he opened his eyes, he noted that Dean was nowhere in the room, but saw that there was a package sitting on the table next to him.

It was wrapped in the comics section from the local newspaper with a red, Christmas bow stuck to the top. Curious, Sam sat up and ripped the newspaper off to see what it was.

Underneath the paper, he found a new black, leather toiletry bag. He unzipped the bag and found a wrapped bar of motel soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant, motel shampoo, a new razor and shaving cream. Inside he also discovered a yellow post-it note that read_; Merry Christmas, Bitch. Now take a shower, you stink."_

Sam chuckled a little – he almost forgot that it almost Christmas and he felt a little bad that he hadn't bought anything for Dean or Bobby. But, then it again, he hadn't exactly been in any shape to go to the mall the past few days and Christmas had never been a holiday that Sam and Dean really celebrated beyond buying each other little trinkets from whatever gas station happened to still be open on Christmas Eve.

After one whiff of his unwashed body confirmed that he was indeed quite ripe, Sam quickly decided to do as Dean's note instructed . He used a crutch to get him to the bathroom then took his time in the shower, letting water cascade over him and wake him up fully. Surprisingly, his balance on one leg was still pretty good considering how long he had stayed in bed the last few days and the pain was tolerable, even though he couldn't remember when the last time he had any pain meds had been.

By the time he was done washing and shaving, he slid his leg on and got dressed, feeling renewed and refreshed. The smell of coffee wafting towards him drew him to the kitchen where he found Dean and Bobby sitting at the table eating breakfast. Dean had a bowl of Lucky Charms in front of him while Bobby drank coffee and munched on some toast. Just seeing the food on the table made Sam's stomach growl and he realized just how hungry he was.

As soon as Sam stepped into the room, Dean looked up from his cereal bowl and grinned, "It's alive!" He exclaimed, using his best impression of Dr. Frankenstein while juggling a mouthful of food.

"Hey Sam … have a seat." Bobby kicked out a chair and gestured for him to sit in it.

He lowered himself into the chair and sat somewhat awkwardly while Bobby and Dean sized him up.

"Feeling better, Lurch?" Dean asked.

"Yeah … kinda hungry."

"Should be. You've hardly eaten anything the last few days." Dean got up from the table and went to the cupboard then grabbed a bowl and a glass to bring to Sam. He poured some cereal into the bowl and then went to the fridge for milk, filling the bowl and then the glass.

"Thanks." Sam said, feeling like a four-year old that needed his big brother to pour him a bowl of cereal, but Dean seemed happy to do it for him, so Sam didn't complain.

He ate a few bites of the sugary cereal and stopped when he felt Dean and Bobby staring at him.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing …" Dean looked at Bobby who shrugged. He then turned back to Sam with a little grin, "It's just that you haven't asked for any pills yet …" Dean's grin blossomed into a full-blown smile, "I guess you don't want any?"

Sam shook his head and gave it a little thought. Yes, he wanted some … God he wanted them so badly and he was sure that the cravings for the pills would take a while to dissipate, but taking even one pill meant that he stood a chance of becoming dependent on them again and he sure as hell didn't want to go through the whole detox process again. Besides, the pain wasn't bad – the sores from the socket of his prosthetic had healed since he hadn't used the leg in days and aside from a slight lingering headache, he actually felt good – probably the best he had felt in months.

"No. I'm good." Sam replied honestly, and then cleared his throat. It was time for him to give out some overdue apologies and thanks, "I uh … I know I said some nasty things to both of you the last few days over being practically held against my will, but you were both right … I needed to get off of those things and I'm uh … well … I'm sorry. And thanks setting me straight– "

"Hey –" Dean came back, "Guess this means you got to admit that I was right. I _do_ always know what's best."

Sam rolled his eyes, " Yeah … okay, I'll eat crow and admit that you were right _this_ _one_ time."

"Good enough for me." Dean pushed his breakfast away and leaned back in his chair, "All we need to do now is keep you off drugs, make sure you stay in school and for God's sake – drink your milk, Sammy."

Sam chuckled, "You sound like a damn PSA."

Dean wasn't laughing and his face darkened a little, "Yeah, well maybe you should have paid a little more attention to them when we were growing up. I mean ...c'mon, Sammy. Do you have any idea how freaked out I was to have Bobby call me in the middle of the night and tell me that he needed my help to get you off those damned pills? What were you thinking? You could have overdosed taking as much as you did!"

Sam bowed his head, his face red with shame. "I said I was sorry, Dean. What more do you want?"

"I just want you to quit giving me grey hairs before I'm 25, okay? And promise me that we won't ever have to do anything like this ever again."

Sam lifted his head and made eye contact with Dean in order to convery his sincerity, "You got my word, Dean."

Dean's gaze lingered on Sam's for a heartbeat, reading him for any signs of dishonesty and when he seemed to find none, he nodded his head in satisfaction, "Good. Now ... eat your breakfast, dork."

Dean got up from the table and took his bowl over to the sink and started to wash it when _Ride the Lightning_ started playing in his pocket. He froze and cursed before pulling the phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. His eyebrows knit together as he read the caller ID.

"Dad?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, "I don't know – but it's from Wyoming where he's been hunting with Caleb for the last few weeks -." Dean pressed the answer button and brought the phone to his ear, "Hello?"

Dean listened for a moment, his face paling, "Caleb? … what? … How? … " Dean swallowed hard and made eye contact with Sam who had an uneasy feeling building in his stomach. "Is he okay? …" Sam watched his brother and didn't think he could get any whiter, "Where are you? … 'Kay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

He snapped the phone shut, "Shit …"

"What's going on?" Bobby asked, looking genuinely concerned for his estranged friend.

"Dad – he uh … he's in a hospital in Casper –"

Sam felt his heart sink, "What happened? How bad is he hurt?"

"That's the thing … he's not injured." Dean explained, as scared as Sam had ever seen him, "He had a heart attack."

**_To be Continued ..._**


	6. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Again, I am sorry for not replying personally to everyone's reviews, but they do mean a lot to me and I thank you all for sticking with this story and letting me know what you think of it so far. This chapter needed an awful lot of editing and there are probably still a ton of mistakes in it, so if you see any, let me know. **_

_**Thanks again! :)**_

**Chapter 7**

"I'm coming with." Sam insisted, tossing his bag into the back seat moments before Dean could start the engine and take off.

Dean still didn't like the lack of color in Sam's face and the deep, dark circles under his eyes, and while he would be grateful for his brother's company to distract him from all of the fightening thoughts running through his head, he felt the need to protect him from getting sick again after the latest ordeal he had been through.

"You still look like a _Thriller _extra, Sam. Maybe you should stay here with Bobby and get some more rest."

"No … "Sam opened the passenger side door and climbed in, slammed the door shut behind him and turned worried eyes towards Dean. "I need to go. He's my dad too, Dean. And I need to see him just in case he -"

_In case he dies? _Dean thought to himself, _Not gonna happen – not now._

"Okay, fine. But, you better get some sleep on the way."

Dean drove like the devil himself was on their tail, chewing up the miles far faster than the law allowed while Sam gripped the armrest on the door and hung on, far from getting any of the rest his brother ordered him to get. He pushed the limits of the car and made it to the Casper city limits by that afternoon.

Leading the way into the hospital, Sam followed close behind Dean as he went straight to the reception desk and asked where he could find their father.

The receptionist kindly told them that he was in the cardiac intensive care unit on the third floor and Dean really didn't like the sound of that—intensive care was where the put the sickest patients, wasn't it? He swallowed down the fear building in his chest and once again led the way. Sam shadowed Dean closely until they were nearing his father's room and stopped short of the door.  
>Dean turned and saw that his brother had gone pale and looked like he might lose his lunch.<p>

"Maybe I should wait out here for now."

"What? Why?"

"Dad just had a heart attack, Dean. I dunno - maybe it was a bad idea for me to come. What if seeing me just makes things worse and stresses him out …"

Dean sighed, feeling his anxiousness give way to annoyance, "Dammit, Sam. You came all of this way to see the man and now you're gonna chicken out? Did you ever think that maybe seeing you might actually make him feel _better_? That if you two somehow stopped being stubborn assholes for once and forgave each other then you both might be able to get over some of the crap that's been keeping you guys apart, huh? Trust me Sam … he's so much like you it's scary and he's been wanting to see you for a very long time, but he's been coming up with the exact same excuses you have for staying away and I'm sick of it quite frankly."

Dean felt some of his anger fade as he saw Sam's eyes glisten and jaw clench while he attempted to keep his emotions from spilling out. From behind of him, Dean heard the door to his father's room open and he quickly turned around to find a tall, blond man wearing flannel and blue jeans step from the room.

"Thought I heard voices –" The newcomer stated as he approached the brothers and grinned. "Good to see you Dean, " he stated as he shook the duo's hands individually, "you too, Sam. It's been a while... and damn, do you ever stop growing?"

"Hey, Caleb." Sam returned the greeting.

"How is he?" Dean needed to know.

Caleb's face dimmed a little, "Well – doctors are saying that he had a moderate heart attack – he's stable and doing okay right now, but they want to do a procedure to unblock some of the arteries to his heart with a catheter or something like that in about an hour or two. Sorry, I'm not the best at digesting whatever language it was the doctors were speaking, but that's the gist of what I heard."

"So … he's okay?" Dean asked, feeling more than a little relieved. All the way out to Wyoming Dean had visions of his father lying in a coma or worse. "Is he awake?"

"Yes and yes. He's a little groggy from the medications, but he'll be glad to see you – both of you." He added, eying Sam.

"What happened anyway, Caleb? Dad was fine when he left."

"I dunno. We were about to go out and take down a witch we've been tracking for the last few weeks when he suddenly got all sweaty and just collapsed."

Dean nodded, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his father had been felled by something as mundane and normal as a heart attack. He knew John Winchester was the toughest hunter he would ever know, but he wasn't indestructible. Howeved, he had never expected this.

"Well, boys … I think I need a refill on my coffee, so I'll take off for a bit and let you guys see your dad." Caleb said, giving Dean and Sam a chance to see their father in private.

"Thanks, Caleb." Dean said before Caleb started to leave.

"I'll be back later."

Sam and Dean stood together and looked at the closed door to their father's room. Dean took the first step forward for the door while Sam hung back for moment, "You coming?"

"Yeah … just give me a minute. You go on ahead."

Dean eyed Sam, who gave him an anxious look and he understood then that Sam needed a moment to compose himself before going in – seeing their father again wasn't going to be easy.

"'kay." Dean agreed, then opened the door and walked into the room.

Dean fought a wave of fear that coursed through him seeing his father laying on the bed, hooked up to a heart monitor. He was far too pale and his dark hair and beard only made the contrast all that more prominent.

His father had his eyes lightly closed, but Dean could tell he wasn't asleep and was fully aware that he was in the room. "Dad?"

"Hey, Dean." John opened his eyes tiredly.

"How're feeling?"

"Been better, but I'll survive."

Dean approached the bed and took a seat in the chair that sat next to it. "A heart attack, Dad? God … it's just so … weird."

His father grinned a little, "Stranger things have happened."

Dean felt a little more at ease seeing his father's smile, "Guess this means we'll have to lay off all of the greasy burger and taco joints for a while."

"Yeah," His father agreed, pointing to an uneaten salad on the rollaway table next to him, "The doctors are already trying make me eat that rabbit food crap."

"Well, whatever it takes to get you 100% again, we'll do it. Even if it means eating salads," Dean winced a little at the thought.

"I suppose, but I still wouldn't mind a big slice of pizza right now."

Dean chuckled and patted his father's shoulder. That's when Dean noticed that John's gaze had shifted towards the door and his grin faded. Dean turned and saw his brother standing in the door, hesitant to come in.

John whispered hopefully, "Sammy?"

OOOOOO

The moment John had felt that first spike of pain in his chest early that morning, he didn't think much of it, but as the pain grew worse, his vision dimmed and he neared unconsciousness, he recalled the last thoughts that had been running through his head – how he regretted all of the mistakes he had made by putting his pride before telling Sam how sorry he was and how he would die with his son thinking that he didn't love him anymore. But the truth was that maybe John loved him a little too much … so much so that letting him go was such a frightening aspect that John's fear of him setting out on his own without him around to protect him had come out as anger.

He recalled how just before everything went dark and he was uncertain if he would ever wake again how he prayed for one last chance to see Sam and tell him all of the things he should have told him long ago.

And now, here he was … standing in his door. It was nothing short of a miracle, if John believed in those things.

Sam hesitated for a moment without moving then cautiously entered the room. "Dad?"

"Sam." John called to his youngest child from his bed softly and beckoned him over.

Slowly, Sam ventured in and walked up to John's bed. He limped slightly in a way that was only noticeable to those who knew him and John was struck again with a pang of guilt. He hadn't been there for his son through his injury – Dean and Bobby had taken up that mantle of responsibility when it should have been John.

Sam stopped at the foot of the bed uncomfortably without saying a word.

John turned to his eldest son, "Dean, you think you could give Sam and me a few minutes?"

Dean nodded, watching them both uneasily as if he expected a fight to break out at any moment, "Fine, I'll be right outside if you need me."

Dean got up from the chair, keeping a wary eye on his brother and father until he was out the door and closing it, but leaving it open a crack just in case.

"Sam … I uh …" John had so much to say, but he suddenly didn't know where to begin. He cleared his throat and started over, "Last time I saw you, we had quite a fight, huh?"

"That's a bit of an understatement." Sam sighed in a husky voice, keeping his distance.

"Look … I know you're still angry with me, I get that and you have every right to be. But, I just want you to know that I'm not perfect. I've made some pretty big mistakes raising you and your brother - I know that. But the biggest mistake I ever made was letting you think that you weren't welcome in this family. I was ... I was wrong. And if this –" John tapped his chest just over his heart, " is telling me anything, it's saying that it's for me to stop being an ass and start being a better father."

Sam was quiet, swallowing hard, his eyes glistening with barely restrained emotion. He cast his gaze down, breaking eye contact with John.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is … I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, especially after what happened to you and I want to change that. I should have changed that long ago."

John wasn't a crybaby, but he felt his eyes starting to mist, "You think we could start over? "

Sam's head came up after he said that, "Dad I …"

"You don't have to forgive me, Sam, I'm not asking for that. I just want you to know how I feel 'cause life is short and I've already wasted too much of it. I was just so scared for you ... and too stubborn to admit it."

Sam stood frozen, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his emotions warring wihtin him. For a moment, John was certain that his youngest son was going to reject this truce between them, that the damage done to their relationship was too great to be rebuilt.

There was silence in the room for several moments before Sam's spoke out softly, "You know I uh … I haven't exactly been the perfect son either, Dad. I've practically spent my whole life being angry with you and honestly, I'm not sure if I can change those feelings overnight and there are some things that I'm still angry about. But, you're my dad..."

Sam's eyes glistened and his voice grew husky, "And I'm willing to try if you are, but you have to be willing to accept that I have my own plans in life."

John felt his throat constrict and he smiled even as tears filled his eyes and began to spill unashamed down his face, "I can try ... I can do that."

Sam nodded, unable to answer as he tried to hold his own tears at bay.

"C'mere, Sammy." John held out his arms and Sam came to his father, bent over and allowed himself to be engulfed in a tight hug. John held on and ran a hand through his son's dark, shaggy hair in a way he hadn't been able to in years and he felt a wetness seep into his hospital gown from the tears Sam cried into his shoulder.

OOOOOO

Dean paced back and forth in the hall. Sam and their father had been in the room for quite a while now and while he hadn't heard any raised voices coming from inside, it was hard to resist the urge to barge in and check on them.

After 10 minutes of waiting in the hall however, Dean was getting restless and was no longer able to keep away. But, when he quietly opened the door and peered inside, he did a double take.

Sam was sitting in the chair next to the bed with his back to the door while his father lay back against his raised pillow wiping his eyes and talking quietly to his brother.

_Talking? … Crying?_

Dean wondered for a moment if he had slipped into _The Twilight Zone_.

Unconsciously Dean smiled, glad that those two appeared have worked something out between them. Without alerting them to his eavesdropping, he backed up into the hallway again and almost ran right into Caleb, nearly spilling the coffee in his hand.

"Whoa."

"Sorry, I didn't see you."

"No problem, but you're lucky I didn't spill my coffee or I might have had to kill you, kid." Caleb joked, "Damn thing cost me almost five bucks at that fancy shop across the street. It tastes like ass, but it's got enough caffeine in it to power a small town."

"I think I could use some of that – either that or a fifth of Jack."

"Yeah, I know. It's been a long day," Caleb gestured to his father's room with his head, "How's he doing?"

"He's okay." Dean replied, looking at the closed door, "He's with Sam right now."

"I'm sure those two have a lot to talk about," Caleb said, "How 'bout you and me go to the cafeteria, I'll get you some coffee."

Dean agreed and followed Caleb down a floor to the hospital's cafeteria and grabbed a large to-go cup of coffee then sat with the older hunter at a small booth next to a window that looked out across the parking lot.

As soon as they sat, Caleb's phone began to ring, "Hello? … Yes, this is Agent Roberts … when? … Who was he? … okay, I'll be there in a little while to take a look … thanks."

"What's going on?" Dean asked while Caleb scowled deeply.

"Your Dad and I were posing as FBI while tracking this witch down. She's been leaving a trail of bodies wherever she goes and I asked the coroner to call me if they had any new unusual deaths. That was him, telling me that they have another body in the morgue - a body-builder in his twenties, perfectly healthy one day – dead the next, riddled with cancerous tumors."

"This fits the witch's MO?" Dean asked.

"To a 'T'… she likes to take people at the height of their fitness, especially competitive atheltes, and takes them out with diseases that should take months or years to kill someone. Our first vic was a high school football star that dies of Lou Gehrig's disease overnight. then we had a marathon runner that keeled over from diabetes even though she had a full physical only a week before and showed no sign of the of some kind of liquid were found with each of the victims, but the tests the medical examiner ran on them showed them to be nothing more than a combination of herbs and, disgustingly enough, human blood. The ME of course, doesn't think the stuff could have killed them, but we're prety certain that witchcaraft was involved."

"So, you think she gave them some kind of potion?"

"That's what we figured. And we think we might have tracked her down, but we hadn't confirmed that yet. Your dad got sick before we got the chance to check her out like we planned to do. And now we have another possible victim."

Dean gulped, putting the facts of the case together, "You think this witch could have had something to do with Dad's heart attack?"

Caleb paused as if he had considered it, "I don't know … I don't think she knew we were on to her, but it's possible. " Caleb sighed and shook his head remorsefully, "But, sometimes these things just happen too, Dean. Your Dad's not exactly a young man anymore. I know he's not old, but you know as well as me that he doesn't take the best care of himself sometimes and the stress of the job-"

Dean cut his friend off, overcome with the need to protect his father, "But she _could_be behind this – she could still be after Dad. We need to hunt this bitch down before she tries again."

OOOOO

Dean found his brother sitting alone in his father's hospital room. "Where's Dad?" He asked concerned at seeing the bed had been wheeled out.

"It's okay, Dean. The doctors came to take him for that catheterization procedure. He probably won't be back for a couple of hours,"

Sam took in the worry and fear on Dean's face, "What's going on?"

"We got a problem. Dad and Caleb were hunting down a witch who is still on the loose and there's a chance that she did this to Dad. We're going out to stop her."

Sam stood up from the chair, "What ?… you're going after her? Now?"

"People are dying, Sam. I have to. Especially if she's gunning for Dad."

Sam heard the seriousness of the situation in his brother's voice and couldn't stop the next words from tumbling out of his mouth, "I'll come with you. I can help."

"No. Look ... it's just a witch, Caleb and I can handle it on our own and we'll be in and out in an hour or two."

"Dean, if you're right and she did this to Dad, then you and Caleb could use all of the back-up you can get."

"I said 'no', Sam. Stay here and keep an eye on Dad, that's how you can help."

"Is this because you don't think I can do it anymore? " Sam let his fear for his brother heading out into danger morph into frustration over the fact that his brother saw him as too handicapped to lend a hand, "Because I'm missing a fucking leg?"

Dean's face betrayed the fact that Sam had hit the nail on the head, but he stood his ground, "Just stay here, okay?" Dean reached behind him and pulled the handgun he always had stashed in his waistband out and handed it off to him, "I've got my phone on, so call me if you have any problems here, got it?"

Sam sighed and took the weapon. They could argue back and forth all day and Sam would still lose, "Fine … But, the same goes for you. If you and Caleb run into trouble, call me. I may not be the fastest runner, but I can still point and shoot."

Dean grudgingly nodded, then was out the door.

OOOOOO

Caleb explained more of the case to Dean as they left the hospital and headed out to the car. He and his father had narrowed their search down to a house in town that all of the victims had been seen visiting. According to some of the friends of the victims they had interviewed, the occupant of the home was a black market drug dealer that supplied much of the town not only with hard drugs like heroin and meth, but was also known in many circles to provide performance enhancing drugs – the kind of drugs that might draw healthy athletes to her door. Somehow she had managed to stay under the radar of the police and ran her operation without drawing their suspicion.

As Dean drove the two of them across town, they drew up a hasty plan.

It was rather simple really—

Dean was a young man and well built, he could pass for an athlete looking for a score and since he hadn't been involved with the case until that afternoon, she wouldn't have any idea who he was. So it made sense that he would be the one to gain entry to the home and once he had the bitch cornered and confirmed that she was using the dark arts to hurt people, he would give a signal and Caleb would come in so they could finish the job.

_Easy peasy, lemon squeezy_, Dean told himself confidently as he pulled the car off the road and parked it about a block away. He shut off the engine and got out at the same time as Caleb then pulled out his phone and dialed Caleb's cell.

Caleb answered the phone, bringing it to his ear as Dean pocketed his own and left it on. "Can you hear me now?" He asked.

Caleb rolled his eyes a little, "Yeah, kid. I can hear you even through the pocket."

"Good ... then let's do this."

Dean made sure his weapons were all well hidden as they cautiously approached the house. Dean went ahead to the front door while Caleb snuck around the side of the house and took cover in the overgrown bushes alongside the home. Once in place and out of sight from anyone inside the house, Caleb nodded to Dean that he was ready.

Dean soon reached the door then reached up and knocked solidly on the wood door. It was a good three minutes before he heard the lock unlatch and then saw the door open a crack. Two suspicious eyes met his and looked at him questioningly.

"Uh … hi there…." Dean waved with his most charming smile.

"What do you want?" A dark- haired, middle-aged woman behind the door asked in a raspy voice while smoking a Marlboro Red. She clearly was not impressed with him, thowing him off his game a little.

"I uh … I heard from some guys at my gym that you … ya know … sell stuff." Dean told the woman with a wink.

"Stuff?" She asked cooly with hard eyes through the door's security chain, "What kind of 'stuff' are you talking about?"

Dean leaned in conspiratorially, "I think you know. I got this competition next week and I ..."

The door slammed in his face before he could finish.

"Crap." He deflated, thinking that they were going to have to do things the hard way until he heard the chain of the door slide and it opened all of the way.

"Come in." She ordered then led him into the house. Dean tried not to choke on the thick cigarette smoke that wafted in his direction as she brought him into her kitchen.

Dean saw right away the tell-tale signs of witchcraft strewn about the place. There were hex-bags on the table next to an open book of Latin spells and she even had a freaking alter with an upside down pentagram displayed over it in the far corner of the room. If she was trying to hide the fact that she was a witch, then she wasn't doing a very good job of it.

She didn't seem too concerned about it though as she leaned back on the counter by the sink and pulled a long drag from her cigarette.

He could feel the heat of her eyes on him as she assessed him from head to toe and Dean got distinct impression that she didn't like him much. Dean casually stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, and felt for the cell phone he had hidden in there that was on the line with Caleb. He could only hope that the other hunter was still listening in as he spoke the signal that let him know that he had confirmed that she was a witch and to come in : "Nice place you got here." He said.

She looked at him like he was stupid and snorted, "This shithole? Right ..." She took another deep inhale from her cigarette, "So what are looking for exactly, HGH? GHB? Roids? What?"

"Ya know … something that won't show up in a pee test and will make me look like Arnold Swarzenegger as fast as possible." Dean replied, trying to stall her long enough for Caleb to get inside."But _Conan_Arnold ... not governator Arnold - he's gotten a little flabby lately ...

"You want fast, do you? Well … that costs extra."

"I can pay."

"You sure will." She came back, her eyes darkening and suddenly Dean felt a chill pass over him. He was starting to get a bad feeling in his gut about this one. She pointed to a chair at the kitchen table, "Sit."

Dean didn't really want to sit, but he suddenly felt compelled to do as she said and sat down in the chair.

"I know what you really want ..." She sauntered over to the table and leaned over the table towards him and locked her eyes on his. He wanted to look away, but found that he couldn't, in fact he couldn't move at all, his muscles failing to obey the orders of his brain.

She was a much stronger witch than any he had encountered before and he could feel her power holding him down tight.

_Oh shit ... play it cool, Dean ... play it cool ... _

"Oh yeah?" He replied, trying to keep himself from gulping audibly, "What's that?"

"To kill me." She smiled, took another drag from her cigarette then blew the smoke in his face, "Isn't that what all of you hunters want to do to my kind?"

Dean felt like grabbing his gun right then and there, he couldn't move anything except for his eyes and face muscles. He was frozen in place.

Crap ... so much for this being an easy hunt. Hopefully, Caleb had heard what was going on and was on his way to gank the bitch any moment before thing got too out of hand.

"Oh come now, did you really think you and your friend could just waltz in here? I haven't lasted three centuries just to fall for your games andI could smell the reek of a hunter on you as you darkened my door." She stood upright and her eyes flashed to the hall and she called out, "You too, Mr. Hunter. I know you're out there, might as well come in and join us."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Caleb walk haltingly into the kitchen, his rifle dropping from his hand and clattering to the floor apparently against his own will, "Take a seat." She demanded with a hiss.

Dean saw sweat break out on Caleb's face as he fought whatever power she held over him, but he couldn't fight it hard enough and was in the chair across from Dean a moment later, seemingly just as frozen in place as he was.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean managed to get out through clenched teeth, "Why did you kill those people?"

She laughed, tossed her cigarette to the floor and smashed it with her foot, "Ohhh … I didn't kill them, they killed themselves."

The witch shrugged and feighned innocence with a grin while continuing her monologue, "Look, I just try to run a business here. They came to me and paid me for my formula. I only gave them what they wanted - a leg up over their competition that wouldn't be detected by any drug screens. They knew full well that what I was giving them was created by a power they didn't understand and could possibly be dangerous. I tell each of my clients the_ exact _dosage they need to take and I can't help it if they're stupid and don't follow my instructions. Those idiot jocks did this to themselves when they saw how much faster or stronger my potion made them ard they decided to take more than should have. Those dumbasses thought that an extra dose or two would make them winners and give them that extra little edge, but it they had only listened to me, then they wouldn't have accelerated whatever latent diseases were hiding in their genes. Besides, they would died from those diseases eventually and it's not my fault they were the morons that made them kick in sooner and kill 'em faster."

Dean wished he had his hands free so he could throttle her, "What about my dad? What did you do to him?"

"Your father? I have no idea who your father is. If he didn't buy any of my goods then I did nothing to him."

"Right ..." Dean snorted disbelievingly, "You didn't give him a heart attack? Why should I believe you, bitch?"

"Boy, how can such a pretty mouth say such ugly things?" She snarled, then added, "I have no need to lie to you - I have you right where I want and since neither one of you is leaving this place alive, why shouldn't I tell you the truth?"

She turned and walked over to a drawer, opened it and then pulled out a large, sharp knife. She caressed it in her hands and played with it tauntingly as she sauntered back to her captives with an angry, dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Now ... since you both were so kind to drop in, let's say we have a little fun, huh?"

**_To Be Continued ..._**


	7. Chapter 8 and Epilogue

**Chapter 8**

Sam glanced at his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes while his dad slept off the effects of the sedative given to him during his procedure.

Even though it had only been about an hour and a half since Dean left, he hadn't heard a word from his brother. He tried not to worry, but he had a nagging, sickening feeling in his stomach that told him that he needed to check up on him.

Sam tapped his foot up and down in nervousness. Another anxious five minutes ticked by and he decided it was time to call his brother and make sure that he wasn't in any kind of trouble.

He dialed Dean's number and it went straight to voicemail, which wasn't a good sign since his brother had been adamant that he call him should anything happen at the hospital.

"Shit …" He muttered.

"Sam?" He looked up and saw that his father had woken up, concern written on his face, "What's wrong?"

John had been too out of it since his procedure for Sam to tell him about Dean taking off after the witch. Sam didn't want to stress his father out after his recent heart attack, but he had to know where Dean and Caleb would have gone to hunt her down. He had a sinking feeling that they had gotten over in over their heads and with his father in no shape to leave bed let alone chase down Dean; it was up to Sam to track down his brother.

"Dad … Dean went to finish the job you and Caleb had in town. But he's not back yet or answering his phone – do you know where they would have gone to find her?"

"He what?" John asked with a slur in his speech that gave away his confusion and fogginess thanks to the drugs.

"I need to find Dean, Dad."

"No … you can't" His father tried to push himself up, but Sam stopped him with a hand against his chest, gently pushing him back down.  
>"You're not going anywhere and I'm not an invalid, Dad. I can do this. You taught me everything you know, remember? Dean's in trouble, I just know it and I need to find him. Now, where could they have gone?"<p>

"Sammy, No."

"You have to trust me, Dad." His father sighed then nodded his head.

"There's a house at the east end of town -"

Dad explained everything - what he was up against and the location of the house where he and Caleb had planned on paying the suspected witch a visit.

As soon as his father was done, Sam was up and heading for the door, but stopped when his father spoke up in an authoritative voice, "Be careful, Sam."

"I will."

OOOOOO

Dean had been in some pretty sticky situations before, but he always somehow found a way out of them. This time however, he had no idea how to get out of this and he was coming to the dishearting conclusion that he and Caleb were completely screwed.

If he survived this ... and that was a big 'if' ... his father was gonna tan his hide for all of the mistakes he had made - for underestimating the witch's power, for letting himself get caught ... for refusing Sam's offer to back them up -

Then again, he was glad Sam wasn't there. His own death he could face without too much fear, but the thought of his little brother in this kind of peril was far scarier. Sure, Sam had been trained well by their father and during the years he had hunted, he proved himself capable, but Sam was at a physical disadvantage now and shouldn't be anywhere near a hunt.

The witch holding them captive in her kitchen had apparently grown tired of holding Caleb and Dean down with only her power and had just finished tightly strapping them both to their chairs with sturdy ropes when she discovered Dean's cell phone in his pocket and promptly destroyed the device with the heel of her shoe.

Dean lamented the loss of his phone, but not for long as he had bigger problems to worry about.

"You know … it's a good thing you guys stopped by, I was running low on human blood. It's an important ingredient in so many things." the witch cooed, brandishing her knife and approaching Dean slowly with the blade.

"Where to start?" She wondered out loud with an evil grin, her face close enough to Dean's for him to smell her cigarette flavored breath, "Wrists? … Femoral artery? … Jugular? So many choices."

She snickered, "Then again, I wouldn't want to you to bleed out too fast … where's the fun in that?"

"Leave him the Hell alone!" Caleb shouted from his chair, fighting his restraints.

"Shut up, Hunter!" She yelled back and suddenly Caleb couldn't speak, his mouth moving, but no words coming out.

"Just get it over with, Bitch." Dean spat out. "Enough with the maniacal shit already, it's so cliché."

"You know, you're right. Let's get this over with. I'm sick of hearing you breathe."

The witch grabbed hold of the collars on Dean's shirt and yanked them apart, sending buttons flying in all directions. She used her knife next to cut away his t-shirt underneath, exposing his bare chest.

Without any further preamble, she took the knife and started carving into his flesh. Dean bit down on his tongue to hold back the scream building in his throat as she made three deep slashes across his chest and let them bleed.

She took a plastic Tupperware container and pressed the lip of it against the cuts, allowing the blood to drip into it, collecting it for future use as Dean struggled uselessly against his bonds.

Her face came in close to his once again and she smiled. Despite the stinging pain flaring, Dean grinned back, thinking about how stupid it was of her to get that close to his forehead and snapped his head back and slammed it forward into hers. Their heads collided with a resonating crack and Dean's sight exploded into an agonizing white.

The witch fell across the floor, stunned and bleeding, but roared back up in anger, raising a hand and using all of her wrathful power to propel Dean, chair and all, into the farthest wall.

The last thing he was aware of was gunfire.

Everything went black after that.

OOOO

For once, Sam's father hadn't disappointed him.

His info about where Dean and Caleb would have gone was right on the money and Sam wasted no time parking his father's truck behind the Impala sitting empty alongside the street. He didn't waste a second getting out of the vehicle and for the first time since he got his new leg, he broke into a run, hurrying as fast as he could towards the ramshackle house his father described.

As soon as he forced the door open, his worst fears were confirmes as he saw his brother bound to a chair and flying backwards. There was a loud crash as Dean hit the wall and fell to the floor, still and bleeding.

Sam didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

"No!" Sam shouted, the gun Dean had given him went off three times in quick succession straight for the surprised, dark-haired woman.

Her body jerked with each bullet that ripped into her chest until she collapsed onto the floor.

Sam rushed into the kitchen, his heart beating furiously in his chest as he dropped to the floor beside his unconscious brother, ignoring the witch's body lying on the floor. He let go of the gun and with shaky hands then checked for a pulse. When he found it beating rapidly against his fingertips, he finally let out the breath he had been holding since breaking in and took a knife he found on the floor to swiftly cut loose the ropes restraining his brother.

"Sam!" He turned sharply towards the sound of Caleb's voice and saw the other hunter tied to a chair as well, but failed to notice what Caleb was alerting him to - that that the body on the floor was moving.

Just as soon as he realised what was causing the other hunter's distress, he felt his body lift into the air, a power grabbing him and flinging him across the room like a ragdoll until he hit the far wall. Sam's head contacted hard with the drywall and he saw stars enter his field of view.

Sam expected gravity to take over and drop him to the floor, but Half-way up the wall he found himself pinned, held tight by an unseen force, unable to move a muscle.

The next thing he knew, the witch he thought he had killed was in his face. She was bleeding from the gunshot holes he had pumped into her chest, but they didn't seem to faze her as she glared at him menacingly.

"That wasn't very nice." She spat into his face then she looked down and noticed the artificial leg dangling from the bottom of his jeans. It had come loose during his flight across the room and had almost fallen off once he impacted the wall. She grinned as she bent down to pull the leg off the rest of the way.

"Look at this … what happened? Werewolves bite your leg off?" She tossed the prosthetic over her shoulder, keeping her eyes trained on Sam.

She moved closer to him and Sam could see just how ugly she was. She had several missing teeth, smelled like stale cigarettes and her skin was as leathery as an elephant's hide. He shivered involuntarily as she filled his vision.

"These two friends of yours?" She asked, nodding her head towards Caleb and Dean.

Sam's nostrils flared in anger, but he refused to answer her.

"You know …I'm getting really sick of all of you hunters thinking that you can barge into my business. It's time I got a little more proactive and make sure none of you comes after me again. Now ... that other boy mentioned that he had a father – undoubtedly another hunter that wants me dead that I'm gonna have to deal with. So, I tell you what - You tell me who he is and I might let you live … heck I may even throw in a brand new leg if you lead me to him."

"Go to Hell." He told her.

"Oh please … I've been around for a long time. I know a hunter when I see one and you're not much of one - you're too damaged to be much of a threat to me. Plus, I can see it in your eyes – you don't have the passion for hunting like these other two morons. You don't even like it do you? "

"Sam … don't listen to her. She's lying!" Caleb shouted as he struggled in the chair he was strapped to.

The witch ignored Caleb's comments, keeping her focus solely on Sam, "I could kill you and your friends here with a snap of my fingers, but I'd rather have that boy's father taken care of before he comes after me as well. So, what do you say? It's the bargain of a lifetime."

Sam only sneered in response.

"Oh c'mon … l know how badly you want that leg back – to be normal again. I can feel it – you want it more than anything. So, just show me where the other hunter is and you can have what you desire the most."

Sam paused and she smiled, believing that he was considering her deal. He then opened his mouth to reply, "If I agree, how can I be sure that you won't welch on the deal?"

"Okay … tell you what. I'll give you the leg first then you take me to him or … I can slowly kill your friends here while you watch and then do the same to you. You're choice."

Sam swallowed and gulped hard, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with her, "Fine. I'll do it, but only under one condition."

"And what would that be?" She questioned suspiciously.

"You gotta talk to my brother first." Sam explained, nodding to a spot behind her shoulder.

"Wha-?" She turned suddenly, leaving Sam pinned to the wall, but ran right into the reason why he had been stalling for time by playing along with her.

Dean met the surprised witch's forehead with the gun Sam left near him, "Sayonara, bitch." Dean snarled then pulled the trigger.

The barrel of the weapon exploded with a flash and a cloud of smoke. The bullet didn't have far to travel as it passed clean through her brain and destroyed the back of her head, spraying bone, brain matter, and blood everywhere. Her body dropped to the floor and her lifeless eyes stared up at nothing as Dean shot three more rounds into her head for good measure, his face a picture of wrath, hate and disgust.

Sam fell immediately to the floor and looked up to Dean, breathing heavily from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

His brother swayed on his feet, bleeding from his head and chest while giving Sam a cocky smirk, "Not bad, Sammy. Guess you're not that rusty after all." he quipped just before his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out cold.

OOOOOO

Dean smelled disinfectant, bleached sheets, and iodine. That was his first clue that when he opened his eyes, he's be looking up at the acoustic ceiling tiles of a hospital.

Sure enough, as soon as he dragged his heavy eyelids open, he was greeted by that expected sight.

"Dean? You awake?" Sam asked, dropping into Dean's field of view.

Dean was sure that was the dumbest question he had ever heard come from his brother's mouth, "No … I always open my eyes when I want to keep sleeping. Of course I'm awake." He turned his head, immediately regretting the movement as a spike of pain pushed into his brain while Sam sat down into an uncomfortable looking chair next to his bed.

Assessing his brother, Dean saw that Sam had a purple and red bruise on his cheek, but otherwise he looked pretty good considering the memories of the witch Dean had coming back to him.

"You okay, Sammy?" He asked, "That's quite a shiner you got there."

"I'm fine, Dean … you're the one you should be worried about. You've got a concussion, two bruised ribs and it took twenty stiches to put you back together. Plus, you scared me half to death passing out like you did."

"I did not pass out." Dean insisted. "I lost consciousness – there's a very manly difference."

"Dude … you fainted like a southern belle with a case of the vapors."

"Shut up." Dean tried to shift into a comfortable position, which was harder than it should have been, but everything hurt and any kind of movement pulled at the stitches in his chest.

"Here … let me." Sam stopped him from moving and pressed the button on the side of the bed that raised the head so Dean could sit up.

"Better?" Sam asked.

"Yeah … thanks." Dean closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his body to ride through the wave of pain the movement caused and after it subsided to a dull ache, he opened his eyes again and started asking all of the questions rattling around in his head.

"How's Dad?"

"He's doing pretty well and his doctors say he should be able to leave the hospital tomorrow. He's gonna have to take it easy for a while and he needs to start taking better care of himself, but he should be back to normal activity in a month or so."

"Good … He always was a tough son of a bitch."

"Ain't that the truth."

"What about Caleb?"

"He's fine too and says he's planning an leaving as soon as he's sure you and Dad are gonna be okay."

"Speaking of Dad … you and he...?"

"We're good ... really. I mean, things aren't perfect, but we've talked and that's a start. So, it's kind of a work in progress."

"Well ... like you said, at least that's a start. I'm just glad you guys can be in the same room without killing each other."

"Give it a week and we'll see," Sam pointed out, "Dad's bound to be pretty cranky about being cooped up and unable to hunt for a while."

"Crap … yeah, he's gonna be a bowl full of cheer." Dean agreed then thought of another burning question on his mind.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"Since when has my permission ever stopped you before?"

"Seriously, Sammy …" Dean tried to prove to his brother that he wasn't kidding around, "That witch – You think she could have really given you a new leg? It makes me wonder if maybe we should look into that – see if there's someone out there that can do that for you. Maybe not a witch, but someone ... you know ... not evil."

Sam shook his head and pursed his lips "Nah – the power to do something like that is never good, Dean. Besides, I'm good ...really. I can walk and I can still go to school and do all of the things I did before. And that's all because of you and Bobby. So …" Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately, "thanks for that – I'm not sure if I ever told you how much appreciated your help ... I don't think I could have done it alone."

Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks and cleared his throat before he completely turned into a woman and started bawling.

"So uh …" He started, desperate to change the subject, "How about finding a way to get me outta here, huh?"

"Nope, not going to happen, the doctor said you need to stay one more night."

"Doctor's … what do they know besides how to charge obscene amounts of money for something we can do ourselves in a motel room."

"Don't be such a baby, Dean." Sam came back, rising from his seat, "It's not like being in here will kill you."

"I'm not so sure, Sammy. I've seen the food they serve here—"

Sam headed for the door and Dean called out, "Hey – where you going?"

"To get you a Big Mac, but only if you stay in that bed."

"Make it a double quarter pounder with cheese, bacon, extra pickles, a side of large fries, a milkshake, and apple pie and you got yourself a deal."

"Jeez … anything on the menu you don't want?"

"I guess that should just about cover it – for now anyway."

**Epilogue**

**_Two weeks later …_**

Dean pulled up to the curb then looked into the backseat. "Need any help with your stuff?"

"Nah – I'm good, Dean."

"You sure?" John asked from the passenger seat.

"Really, you guys – the terminal is like twenty feet away, I think I can handle it. You two are the ones that are supposed to be taking it easy, remember?"

Dean and their father shared a withering glance, "We're fine, Sam." Dean reassured him.

"I know – but, maybe you guys should stay with Bobby for another week or two until you're both 100%."

"Sam … " His father stopped him, "Bobby's been great to let us stay with him this long, but if we spend one more day with him, we might drive the poor guy insane and he might actually shoot me next time he pulls a shotgun on me. But don't worry, Dean and I are gonna take a few weeks off before finding another job. So, we'll be fine, got it?"

"You're sure?"

"Yes." Dean and John answered in unison.

"Alright then, "Sam relented and opened his door, pulling his bag out with him. John and Dean each got out of the car as well and joined him where he stood awkwardly between them, "Promise me you guys will be careful, okay?"

"Of course we will, Sammy. We're the epitome of careful." Dean waved off his concern with sarcasm.

Sam smirked, "Is that supposed to reassure me, Jerk?"

"It's the best I can do, Bitch." Dean reached up and squeezed Sam's shoulder before playfully slapping him across the back, "Now go – go be one with your kind at school."

"My 'kind'?"

"Yeah, ya know … dorks, nerds, geeks –"

Sam cut his brother off with a swift kick in the shin with his prosthetic, glad that he couldn't feel the impact and grinning as Dean hopped around, grabbing his leg dramatically.

"Owwww … damn that hurt."

John loudly cleared his throat, signaling that the time to let Sam leave had come, "Alright you two … Sam's got a plane to catch."

Sam sighed heavily, "Yeah ... I guess I better go. Stop by and see me next time you guys are in California, alright?"

"Of course we will, dumbass." Dean assured him, adding an admonishment of his own, "And call every once in a while, will ya?"

"I will." Sam promised.

Sam turned his attention from his brother and then shifted uncomfortably, eyeing his father, unsure of how to say good-bye to him. Things still weren't perfect between them, but over the last couple of weeks, they had come to an understanding of each other. John had come accept that Sam wasn't hunter as much as Sam had accepted the fact that his father would always be one. Maybe they would never have the ideal father-son relationship, but both of them were trying to knock down some of the walls that they had built up between them.

After a moment's deliberation, Sam offered his hand for John to shake. But his father ignored it and deliberately walked up to his youngest son, took him by the shoulders with both hands, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

John whispered into his ear, "You know that you make me proud, right? … You always have, son."

"Thanks, Dad …" Sam beamed, feeling warmth blooming in his chest from the unexpected praise and squeezed his father back in kind. "I'll see you soon."

**The End**


End file.
